


Aftershocks

by metawohoo



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad things in general, Case Fic, Crime, F/M, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, THIS IS UTTER SHIT - DO NOT READ - I am keeping this up not to mess with my AO3 stats, Think Criminal Minds but more Gotham-ey, Torture, badfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 53
Words: 136,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metawohoo/pseuds/metawohoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dust settles after Oswald's takeover, and things are not fine. Maroni's family is standing firm. Fish can't be found. Barbara is insane. And, on top of that, Jim and Harvey's new case might be darker than it appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a "what happens afterwards" story starting right after the finale. I don't know where I'm going, I just wanted to start.
> 
> This will be plot-centric, totally improvised as usual. There might be romance, but it won't be the main aspect of it. No slash, save for, of course, possibly including Renee and any relationship she might have. 
> 
> If you like Jim, you might want to avoid this. I'm utterly not fond of him after the Ogre plot.

Napoleon had been a man of great wisdom and wit. His words had lived through the ages, to enlighten the common men on topics such as leadership, war, and  _torture._ In a letter to Louis Alexandre Berthier, in 1798, he had shared quite scathing views on the practice.

_«The barbarous custom of having men beaten who are suspected of having important secrets to reveal must be abolished. It has always been recognized that this way of interrogating men, by putting them to torture, produces nothing worthwhile. The poor wretches say anything that comes into their mind and what they think the interrogator wishes to know.»_

Oswald rather thought Napoleon had missed the point.

You scarcely needed to resort to violence to uncover secrets. Information would flow easily enough, provided you used the adequate currency. Most often than not, that currency was _promises._ At other times, it was guile. Then came favors and money. When all of that failed, when you were adamant that you could not extract a word from your target, you had _torture_. Torture was not about interrogation. It was not about pushing men to confess and betray every confidence. It was about _punishment_. It was about revenge.

If you were so inclined - like Victor - it was about _pleasure._

«When will he be ready?» Oswald asked, circling the ‘operating’ table, and looking down at Gilzean’s quivering, naked form.

The man was sobbing, a high-pitched, continuous sound coming out of his throat between every gasp, despite his gag. The smell of urine was unbearable, even though Zsasz had washed him every time he had soiled himself, lifting him in the air by the arms with the pulley and chains hanging from the ceiling, then hosing him down. The hitman kept his basement meticulously clean. He would only allow infection and gangrene to take hold when he fancied it.

If one had to be honest, there was not a trace of dejections around. The tiles were spotless, both on the walls and on the floor. The operating table was immaculate - save for the blood - and even the drain appeared clean. The stench of fresh urine had just burned itself deep into Oswald’s nostrils, just as the smell of fear.

Zsasz leaned closer to Butch’s chest, cutting a neat, one inch long square into the man’s skin. He pushed the blade of his scalpel under it and slowly lifted the skin, stripping it away. Gilzean wailed and trashed, and dissolved into near convulsions a minute later, when Victor poured disinfectant over his exposed flesh. The square of removed skin joined six others into an aluminum tray.

«He will be ready when I say so», Victor replied. «It is your fault, this. You _spoiled_ him.»

He clicked his tongue and went for his scalpel again.

Oswald had to admit the results of his work were satisfying to watch, even if the monster could not be trusted to properly break a mind. Gilzean’s skin was a patchwork of old scars, burns and cuts mixed together, long healed. The _fresh_ wounds were a pleasure to look at, red, bloody, and entirely deserved. Oswald’s gunshot wound had been cleaned and sutured the previous evening. The pain was minimal, really - the nerves in his leg too damaged to properly register the extend of the wound - but the betrayal still required _retribution_. _«I’m so sorry»_ , the traitor had told Fish. _«I would never hurt you, I love you»_. It was good, oh, hilarious, _wonderful_ that the slimy bag of grease had seen the _bitch_ fall to her death. The look of utter despair on his face after that had nearly been punishment enough. _Nearly_.

Oswald was still tremendously enjoying this visit to Zsasz. He loved watching him work: he needed the release. Fish Mooney’s body had yet to be found, and her lover’s pain made for good distraction.

It was also very good to have currency to enlist the freak.

«I want him _perfect_ this time. I refuse to be forced to watch my back constantly because you settle for a subpar job.»

«Shouldn’t you be elsewhere, attending to… ‘your’ city?» Victor asked.

The creature was not capable of sarcasm, but Oswald still felt himself flush.

«The situation is being managed», he replied. «I have men out there, taking control of the strategic building. Falcone’s mansion is _mine_. The club is mine. The theater district is mine. Maroni’s territory is being divided as we speak.»

Zsasz smiled, a childish, half-swallowed grimace of lunacy.

«I heard of fighting in the streets.»

«It will quiet. On _that_ note. I will require your services, shortly. A show of force will be necessary.»

«I do not work for you», the hitman answered, pursing his lips when Oswald’s eyes pointedly turned to Butch. « _He_ is. Myyy. Toy.»

«We should still discuss the matter of your employ. Falcone retired. Maroni is dead. And _I_ offer you first dibs on any contract I might have. Trust me, there will be many of those.»

Zsasz moved away from Gilzean’s quivering body, placing another square of skin into the tray.

«You cannot _pay_ me. You will not even be. Alive. By the end of the day.»

«Oh, my friend, my good friend, you are so terribly mistaken. I believe I can trust you with my life, as long as I provide you with a suitable payment for your services.»

«I don’t want your money», the monster replied, reaching for his bottle of disinfectant. «Don Falcone and I… We had an _arrangement_.»

He poured the liquid on Gilzean’s chest. Oswald waited for his wails to subside.

«And we can have our own. I have many enemies, and _very_ little concern about the time it might take you to dispose of them… As long as they _disappear_ the instant I require them to.»

Victor started and turned to him, swallowing hard.

The easiest currency was _promises_. And sometimes, _sometimes_ , torture could be too, in more ways than one.

 

###

 

«We’ll be safe here», Cat told Ivy as they settled inside the attic of an empty house in Tricorner.

The owners were on a trip, which she had discovered while she dragged Ivy across town, when a neighbor had walked in to feed the cats. The two girls had waited around until dark, then Selina had broken into the place through the second floor window.

The place _would_ be safe enough. For a while.

It was all a disaster. Fish was _dead_. _Fish_. She had never been supposed to _die_. She was strong, the strongest around. She understood the streets, she understood what had to be done to survive, and she took care of her own. She had gathered the misfits, the weak, the outcasts, and given them shelter. To those who needed protection, like Ivy, she had given protection. To the strongest, she had given weapons. Cat wasn’t one to be easily swayed by figures of authority, but she had seen what Fish Mooney offered, in a city at war. More than that, she had talked to the woman. She had tested the waters, looked for the _lies_ that always came with promises of food and power. And Fish had _known_ what it meant to be alone in the streets, to fight tooth and nail for survival in a world that did not give a _shit_ about you.

Cat had a kid to worry about, red haired and grumpy and always sick as she was, and what Fish Mooney had offered had not been just a gig and a roof. It was obvious the woman cared, though she was not about to let feelings affect her resolve.

«I’ve dragged myself up from where you are, girl», she had told Selina. «All the way to the top. And I will do it again. This town will be ours. There will be change.»

She had meant every word of it. She could have done it, too. She had taken _Maroni_ out. She had Falcone in the palm of her hand.

Jim Gordon, too. _That_ had been satisfying. Jim _asshole_ Gordon, who had gone and made silly faces to try to get her to free him. As if he _deserved_ it. Cat had been there to see Barbara come back from the hospital after the Ogre’s death. After Jim had not only been too late to save her, but had not even thought of _warning_ her. _One_ phone call, _one_ word, and Selina would have made sure Barb’ was safe and out of reach, but had Soldier boy even _thought_ of her? Of course not. That was just like Gordon, letting the monsters get to you, like those assassins at Wayne Manor. And he didn’t even see what he did. He thought he was _such_ a hotshot cop, all ‘Protect and Serve’. The truth was, he didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘protection’. He did not protect, he waged wars. He didn’t serve, he did as he pleased. And he didn’t even apologize when he destroyed people. He did not notice at all. When he came to check on Barbara after she had returned home, it had been out of _duty_ and nothing else, and he had barely stayed five minutes.

If Fish had killed him, it would have served him right. Shown him how it felt to have no one coming for you.

The apartment thing had been sweet. It was a good place, and Barbara was nice enough. Sure, she had not been _easy_ , and she drank too much, and she could get into piss poor moods and all. But she loved them, even Ivy, who was a bit of a cross between a cactus and a bitch. She made sure they were fed and that Ivy’s hair was brushed and soft. She worried when they didn’t return for a few days. She had whined a lot, and gotten drunk, and seethed at everything and nothing, but she had been a _person_. What had come back from the hospital had been… Something else. Composed, and nice, and proper, and sober, and just plain _wrong_. Cat had noticed it at once, that weird malevolence, that creepiness she sometimes felt around Ivy. But with Barbara, it had been a thousand times worse, and talking to her had brought Selina no comfort.

The girl had been direct with her questions. There was no point circling around the issues. She came from the streets. She was not stupid.

«No, no, Jason did not rape me», Barbara had replied without even noticing she had used the killer’s first name.

The pimps who picked runaway girls in the streets didn’t ‘rape’ them either. Just seduced them and called it making love. But Barbara had kept denying, though she admitted being tortured when Selina pushed, so the girl had crossed her fingers and hoped for that sick freak to have kept his hands to himself, unlike his tools and his blades.

Anyway, Barb’ as the girls knew her was gone, and what had replaced her could not be trusted, so Cat had dragged Ivy away. She had just met Fish. At least, they had somewhere to go.

But now, not only was Fish dead, that Penguin guy had seen Cat’s face, and he would not forget her. Everyone Fish had recruited was gone - out of town if they were wise - but the crazy bastard had probably not memorized their faces. Selina had felt him watching her, filing every detail of her face for later use. That sniveling bastard had spent the night limping around on that messed up leg of his, telling everyone he was the «king of Gotham».

Gotham had not gotten the memo. Every mobster Falcone had kept under his thumb was fighting for territory. Maroni’s family was doing much better. It remained organized, much to everyone’s surprise, despite the death of the Don. Cobblepot was going to be king of the bottom of Gotham River by the end of the week if he kept repeating he had a claim on the city. Until he was dead, though, things were a disaster. And Falcone had seen her face, too, even if he planned to ‘retire’. Plenty of Maroni’s men had. She would have to lay low for a while and keep Ivy out of trouble.

 

###

 

Jim hung up and stared at his desk, ignoring the noises of the bullpen, the ringing of the phones, the voices, the constant shuffling of papers, every other small, familiar noise.

Coming back to the precinct had been… Well, his relationship with Loeb had hit rock bottom before the confrontation at the hospital, and the commissioner was probably busy figuring out whose side to pick, seeing how there were no more sides to side with. Loeb and the Mafia were at the back of his mind for a moment, though, as another matter had kept him on the phone for twenty minutes and was now battling for control of his thoughts.

«Barbara just arrived in Arkham», he announced to Harvey, who grunted and didn’t answer. «They’ll be… Well, she has her cell, she’ll see a psychiatrist in a few hours.»

There had been no other options, really. She had _killed_ her parents. Sure, it had not been her fault, she was damaged and broken, but her thoughts had been clear enough to fake sanity for two weeks and then go after Leslie. Criminally insane. Barbara, of all people. She had her issues with substance abuse, and she could be bitter at times, but evil had never been part of her. Not until the Ogre had captured her. Not until he had… Well, she had not been his first victim, and the bastard’s torture room left little to the imagination. Jim suspected. Barbara had refused to talk about it with him. She had told Lee, but Lee would not repeat what she had heard. Confidential. Doctor-patient privilege, even if that «therapy» had been a ploy for Barbara to attempt murder.

Jim felt sick.

«Do you think she can heal?» he asked, even though Harvey was not paying attention.

His friend was listening to the news on radio, one earphone in, and looking at his phone.

«Jim, for fuck’s sake, I’m busy here. Go ask someone who _cares_.»

The blond clenched his jaw and nodded, and struggled with his thoughts for a while. The noises around him grew louder, just as his inner voice grew more pressing.

«I should have found her sooner», he said. «If I’d done a better job-»

Harvey slammed his fist on his desk, turned the radio off, grabbed his cloak and left without a word, leaving Gordon bewildered.

«What have I done _now_?» he asked to the empty space in front of him.

Then he shook his head, grabbed the radio, and listened to the reports of arsons and shootings. Ten minutes in, someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to a punch to the face.

«YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS ASSHOLE», the woman screamed, as he pressed a hand to his face.

Blood was streaming from his nose, and he had to take a second to recognize the latina standing in front of him.

«Montoya?»

«I just got a call from a journalist friend who worked on the Ogre story and who told me Barbara was sent to _Arkham_. Three months undercover and my first contact from outside is to tell me she’s killed her parents and went _insane_.»

«She… It just came to light, she…», he murmured back, aware that everyone around had turned to them and was listening in.

_«You son of a bitch.»_

«I swear I did everything I could to find her, I-»

 _«FIND HER? FIND HER?_ How did he get to her to begin with? You _KNEW_ who you were going after, what was she doing in Gotham? Why didn’t you get her out of _town_ before you went on TV to taunt the bastard?»

Jim blanched, and Montoya took one look at his face and saw very clearly what had happened. He had not thought of Barbara back then. Not at all. Not for a _second_. Not until Jason Lennon had already lured her away from that charity ball. Guilt sank in, and he saw Renee’s expression slide from rage to absolute fury. He braced for another blow.

She spat in his face and stalked away.

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a little companion piece about [Selina meeting Fish in episode 22: 'Cat on the moon'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3901345). Check it out if you're interested!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New OC in this chapter, due to a lack of survivors in the show. 
> 
> Also, I just now remember that Bruce exists and discovered a secret passage in his home. Cue "total panic" because I have no clue of what to do with that.

Little girls dreamed of white picket fence houses and white wedding dresses, and of something old, of something new, of something borrowed, of something blue. They waited for the day their prince would come, to smother them in kisses so tender their hearts would break. When they found the One, they wrapped themselves in promises of love, and soft whispers, as one would with a warm blanket in the unbearable coldness of a winter night. They reveled in their ever after, covered it all up with lies until it looked like happiness.

Little girls were made of sugar and spice and everything nice, but ‘nice’ did not belong in the real world. Sugar would make you ill with syrupy sweetness, and _spice_? Oh, no, one could not have any ‘spice’. Good girls smiled and nodded and did not raise their voices. Good girls waited for their turn to speak. Good girls did not kiss girls, and did not like to. If you had _spice_ , it had to be crushed out of you with scathing looks and terse comments. And God forbid the world could see a trace of snips, or snails, or puppy dog tails under your mask.

Good girls did not wear masks, actually. If you had to, there was something _very_ wrong with you.

_Or so they said._

«No», Barbara told the psychiatrist that had been sent to assess her state of mind. «You willfully misinterpret my words. I did not hate my parents. Was I angry at them? Yes. Did they deserve to die? Yes. But I loved them. All my life, all I _ever_ did was to try to live up to their expectations and hope they would return my feelings.»

Leslie Thompkins had had a little more fight in her than what one could expect from that condescending little miss Perfect, so Barbara was not safely watching the news of her grisly death on television, from a motel three states away. Which was disappointing. Then again, there would be other opportunities. James did not have the best track record at protecting his loved ones, and Leslie was such a bleeding heart she would fall for the stupidest tricks in the book. The victim card was _so_ easy to play on someone who _wanted_ to see you as a broken doll. She would die, in time. That being said, her surviving meant she had tattled about that murder confession, which resulted in Barbara having to reside in Arkham for the foreseeable future.

She would play along for a few weeks, until she figured out which guard was the most in need of a fifty thousand dollars donation.

«Did Jason Lennon suggest your parents deserved to die?» the psychiatrist asked, taking notes.

_No. No. He agreed, but the suggestion was mine, from the bottom of my soul._

«I-I… Don’t _recall_. T-that evening, I w-was so out of it. It h-had been a long d-day, and I was d-drugged. It’s all in my file, isn’t it?»

She was grateful for the drugs.

 _«Barbara, we’re doing this for you»_ , Jason had said, getting his blade out. And he had grabbed her mother, cut a deep gash into her cheek, and invited Barbara to join him. _«This is something you have to do for yourself. Only_ you _can define who you are.»_

She had stumbled to him, the world hazier than her thoughts.

She was grateful for the drugs. Without them, she couldn’t have brought herself to take the knife and to follow Jason’s instructions. She would not have freed herself from the masks, and the shame, and the utter _misery_. She would have kept waking every day to drink herself to sleep. She would have drowned in that sense of isolation and worthlessness when, in fact, she did not need anyone, and she could not _fathom_ why rejection had ever hurt her. She did not even need _Jason_. She missed him like her heart torn away, but she didn’t _need_ him. She was more complete than she had ever been. She was stronger. She knew no fear.

«It is», the doctor replied. She was a fat, old lady with a closed up face and thin glasses. She worked in Arkham, so she could not be very competent. «I would like to hear the story from you all the same.»

«As I said, I don’t remember _anything_ after he gave me that ‘water’. I passed out.»

_And then he woke me and asked me who to kill._

_And I did._

_And he loved me for that._

«When did you wake?»

«A few h-hours later. He said we were going for a road trip.»

He had given her a simple, elegant white dress so she could change from her ball gown. They had showered. She had done her hair as he kissed her shoulder and told her about freedom and revenge, and she had swayed in his arms, swallowing the pills he gave her. _Then_ they had driven to her parents.

«It’s so blurry, all of it. I remember wiping my hands on my dress… Telling my mother about being her little ‘piggy’. I remember James coming in… I’m…»

She started sobbing and let the tears flow. _This is all so traumatic, wah, wah, wah._ The psychiatrist waited for her to regain her composure. Someone knocked at the door. The therapist went to open it, the soles of her cheap moccasins shuffling on the yellowish tiles. One of the guards was waiting in the corridor.

«There’s a detective to see Kean», she announced. «Gordon, remember him? Worked in the male wing.»

Barbara bit back a grin. Jim, Jim, Jim. Had he decided to reopen the Ogre case? She saw no other reason for him to visit. Maybe his simpering idiot of a girlfriend had sent him to check on her. Out of pity. It was her style.

She let herself be led away, to a creepy little room with yellowish walls and yellowish lights and yellowish windows obstructed by iron bars and years of dirt. Jim was standing in a corner, uneasy, and grimaced when he saw her. His face. He thought he could lie. He thought he could fake warmth and affection. He thought he could do a great many things, the poor, poor man. He had so much to learn.

She smiled and put on her most innocent face.

«Jim! I’m so glad to see you.»

Watching his discomfort was about as hilarious as getting Thompkins to squirm in horror with tales of Jason’s games.

«I. You… We need to talk. I want to help you», he said, gesturing to the guard to leave them alone, and moving closer to Barbara. «Anything I can do, I will.»

_When I needed help, James, all you ever gave me was absence. But it’s kind of you to offer some now that I’m just fine._

His face was ever so slightly bruised.

«Who sent you?» she said.

If it wasn’t about a case, then he had been prompted.

«No one. Barb’… Let’s sit?» he suggested, walking to a set of unmatched chairs.

She took one, and he turned his own to face hers.

«First things first, I want you to know I contacted the best therapist in town. Highly recommended, he specializes in trauma counseling and recovery. I want you to talk to him. I want you to _please, please_ let someone help you.»

Barbara pursed her lips and did not comment.

«Please», he insisted.

She promptly resumed her innocent victim act and nodded.

«Anything, if you think it’s necessary», she promised. «Was it Leslie?»

«What?»

«The person who sent you.»

«No one sent me.»

She chuckled. She couldn’t help it. No one was as bad a liar as Jim Gordon, and she _knew_ him in and out. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Just like when he had tried to hide he was dating Leslie, when it was plain on both their faces. He tensed and moved away.

«You don’t have to force yourself to come see me, you know?» she said. «I left you a long time ago. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just _fine_.»

«Of course I will worry about you. You’re important to me.»

_That’s a new one._

«And I failed you», he finished. «It’s my fault you were hurt.»

 _Renee!_ It had to be Renee. That would explain both Jim’s bruise and his sudden realization that his actions sometimes had consequences.

He had not even come up with that on his own. Barbara decided to punish him with sweetness and truth. Sugar and spice and everything nice.

«Don’t blame yourself», she told him in a cheerful, happy voice. «I’m glad. I’m so very glad. If you had not made that little, insignificant mistake, I would never have met Jason. I would never have been _loved._ I owe you so much, even if it was all unintentional.»

His face at that was _priceless_. The perfect mixture of pain and shame and disbelief, all of it wrapped in horror. She didn’t think she had ever seen him so low. She gave him her kindest smile.

He had so much to learn.

 

###

 

«What part of ‘whoever holds the bridges holds the town’ do you fail to understand, Hugo?», Giulia snapped into her phone. «Gotham is an _island_. I do not care how many labs you lose today, nor how many warehouses. The cocaine you save will do you no good when the family finds itself cut from all other resources. Now off to the North Bridge, your men are to join Cipriani’s and defend the block. Are we clear?»

Hugo tried to protest again - _«I just thought-»_ \- but a scathing ‘now’ was all it took to get him to obey. That compliance made him much more tolerable than the pack of wolves Giulia had spent the day cajoling and threatening into defending the _family_ instead of their asses. Salvatore had not be dead a day, and all of those imbeciles were going after each other, or Falcone’s lieutenant, or whatever struck their fancy. All of that because Giulia’s husband had felt the urge to taunt the craziest woman in town. At no point had he considered that _maybe_ someone who had the gall to try to take Don Falcone out would not lose any sleep over executing him. That was so very ‘Sal’.

His lieutenants were not much smarter. “But my territory is more important than _that_ territory”. Whining and quibbling like children. Giulia had seven years old twin boys who were not nearly as puerile.

She had managed to obtain some semblance of order. They had been at war with Falcone for days, and the family had taken some serious losses even before Salvatore’s death. That left Giulia little to work with, and the men who remained had tried their best to scatter to the wind. She had reined in enough of them to gain control of the Adams Port, which was good, but they needed at least two bridges. She remembered being a young bride, barely twenty, sitting in the restaurant and listening to Big Lou tear Sal ‘a new one’ about sacrificing the Kane Memorial Bridge in some feud against the Russians.

«We traffic weapons», Luigi had told his son. «We traffic drugs! Do you think they grow on trees, coglione? Falcone will always find whores to fill his pockets, there’s no shortage of foolish sluts in Gotham. Goods, however, do not make themselves. How do you think we will fare if the Russians get first dibs on every truck we try to get in?»

Salvatore had gone and taken that bridge back. Nearly died in the process, too, which his father had called a ‘suitable lesson’. Giulia had not forgotten. Never cut your own supply lines.

She was the daughter of Luigi Maroni’s right hand. She had been Salvatore’s wife. She was the mother to his heirs. She knew how to take care of the family.

She looked down at the bodies around her: the overreaching lieutenant who had used her boys as hostages (after Sal had entrusted him with their care), his own sons, and his men. The henchmen had been gunned down as soon as her team had entered the mansion, but Franco and his sons? It had been personal, so she had let her men tie them up. Then it had been a bullet in the head for each of the sons, by her hand, as their father watched. Was the death of the young men a tragedy? Of course. But insubordination could not go unpunished. Giulia had to make sure no one would go after her children again. Letting Franco’s wife and young daughter survive had been enough of a mercy.

She turned to the two hitmen she had brought with her.

«I want his head delivered to Vasily», she told them, naming the _other_ rogue lieutenant. «Cristiano, if you would be so kind?»

The blond nodded and went to fetch his tools. His colleague, Nino, moved closer to Giulia. She walked to the door.

«Let’s retrieve the boys and leave. I want them out of town by the-»

Her phone rang. She picked up, only to be greeted by a polite, composed voice.

«Giulia. I hope I am not disturbing you. I’ve been made aware that your family is not falling to pieces. I assume you have a hand in that?»

_«Carmine?»_

«Himself.»

«Where the hell are you and what are you _playing at_?»

She had been told he had _retired_. All of her trusted informants agreed on that, as well as some of Fish Mooney’s hirelings, the ones that had been captured after the events of the previous night and had witnessed the whole disaster. The notion of Carmine Falcone _actually_ relinquishing his hold on the city was ridiculous. Maybe he was injured and too weak to handle the ongoing war. Maybe he had a temporary lapse of faith. But Gotham was as good as part of his soul. He could never keep away.

Giulia had been stunned to see him let his family dissolve. Oswald Cobblepot, self-proclaimed «king of Gotham», had attempted to take over, but he was about as skilled at managing the politics as he was at managing Fish Mooney’s club. He seemed to believe that, by virtue of having killed the woman who had killed Salvatore, he had acquired some special status. In Giulia’s opinion, the man lived in a fantasy world. Real life was not ‘Harry Potter’. There was no power transference when you happened to defeat someone, the ‘wands’ did not magically change owners.

«I’m not playing, Giulia. I’m done with this life. I think it is time for the established order to be shaken up a little. And, quite frankly, it has been a long week.»

«Well, you should have thought of that before sending a hitman after my husband, quite frankly.»

«Ah. The thing is, I never did. I did, however, receive a head in a box, courtesy of Salvatore. My condolences, by the way. He was a good friend, I was sad to see him go.»

«If you didn’t call that hit, who did?»

«You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can guess.»

Giulia didn’t have to give it a lot of thought.

«Cobblepot?»

«He paid me a visit to confess and gloat. A very informative few minutes that would have been better employed stabbing me, but you know how it goes. Hubris is quite a glaring weakness.»

«I’m _shocked_. A double-crosser, triple-crossing, who could have seen it coming?»

«No need for sarcasm. I’m an old man, Giulia. My wit is not what it used to be. Which is why I’m very glad to discover you have stepped forward. You’re a good woman. Always had your priorities straight. I believe you can do the city a lot of good.»

«I assume this call had a goal other than letting me know about Cobblepot’s being a repeat turncoat?»

«Yes. I have a favor to ask of you.»

She frowned.

«Do you, now?»

«I had to leave the city in a hurry. I left a few loose ends, but one of them will keep me up at night. I would be ever so thankful if you could take care of that matter for me.»

«That matter being?»

«Zsasz. I had an arrangement with Zsasz. And since I’m not here to uphold it and keep him leashed… He needs to be dealt with, Giulia. He does not have the strength to control himself. He’ll soon become a rabid dog. He needs to be put down before he starts hunting his own prey.»

 

###

 

«Where is Jim?» Sarah asked, joining Bullock at his desk. «I have a case for the two of you.»

The man was doing crosswords, though she suspected he was just passing time as he waited for a phone call. His phone was charging next to him, and had been all day.

«Arkham, I reckon», he replied. «Had to check on his psycho ex-girlfriend or something. And are you _kidding me_? The city’s at war and there’s dumbasses out there who found the time to murder someone?»

«Stabbing victim, a woman was found dead in her home.»

«Then call the husband in! Ninety-nine percent chance he did it.»

«Here is the address», she replied, handing him a square of paper with all her notes on it. «Go take a look, do not arrest the husband unless you have probable cause, and try to get Jim to join you.»

He grunted, snatched her notes, collected his phone, and stormed out.

 

###

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I vanished. Here's what happened:
> 
> The Witcher III was about to come out. So I started back from TW1, and then I played TW2, and then I played TW3, and then I played Arkham Knight ( <3 ), and then I ragequit Arkham Knight earlier today because FUCK THE RIDDLER'S PUZZLES (if you have played any of the Arkham games, I bet you know the feeling).
> 
> So I wrote.
> 
> Let it be known that **I have not finished Arkham Knight yet.**

«It’s the husband», Harvey said.

Jim circled their victim, a brunette in her late twenties. Her make up was vivid enough to keep her pretty, save for the dark strokes of blood on her chin. She had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and had taken a few blows to the belly and shoulders, but her face was intact.

«You sure?» the blond asked his partner.

«The neighbors called 911 twice in the last month, domestic disturbance. They’ve been seen arguing for weeks, I found cards for _two_ divorce lawyers in her wallet.»

«What does _he_ say?»

«Bohoo, I didn’t do it», the older man replied. «We’ll see if he sticks to that line once we ‘gently’ confront him with the evidence.»

«Did you arrest him already?»

«A whole _hour_ ago, asshat. You took your sweet time arriving.»

«Sorry, it was a long drive.»

«Yeah. Well, now that you’re drown frolicking in crazy land, I suggest we go back to the precinct and wrap this up.»

Jim glared at him, but Harvey was not even looking his way. He was walking to the door, getting his phone out of his pocket to check his messages.

 

###

 

Sabrina looked down at her martini and carefully, slowly removed the olive from it. She waited for the last drop of alcohol to fall before placing the pin on her napkin. She was trying not to cry. Focusing on small details like that helped. She took a deep breath, forced a smile on, and looked straight at David. He nodded encouragingly. He was taking a sip of his own glass of wine, a pinkish, salmony liquid that the waitress had poured with a shaky hand. The drinks were probably safe.

David was a good looking man in his early forties, who wore an elegant, tailored suit, the same he had been wearing that same morning when Sabrina had handed him his caramel macchiato. He was a banker, he had told her a bit after they had taken their seats in the empty restaurant. Twenty years her elder, which would usually have made Sabrina a bit cautious, though not to the point of refusing a first date, in normal circumstances.

The young woman fumbled for words.

«Is this your first, ah, uh, blind date?» she asked.

«The second», he replied, adjusting his white scarf. «My first try had a bit of a… Bad ending. I sincerely hope all will go well between us. I can see us having a brilliant future», he said, raising his glass. «Don’t you?»

Sabrina pulled at her own scarf. It was tangerine instead of white, but it served the same purpose as David’s: concealing the explosive necklace they were both wearing.

«I… I… Think…»

She had no idea what was expected of her. Her hands were shaking, so she grabbed her napkin, and smiled again. She had spotted five cameras, and knew the waitress was watching them, though she seemed focused on the cash register. The restaurant was empty, the windows and the door boarded shut.

David took her hands. The look he gave her was amazingly tender, but he was sweating bullets. His short dark hair was soaked at the temples. His forehead was glistening.

«I know this must seem strange to you. I assure you, it’s usually very out of character for me to feel such a connection with a woman as young as you are… But the instant I saw you, the moment our eyes crossed at the coffee shop… I couldn’t get you of my mind. Does that make sense?»

Sabrina’s eyes darted to one of the cameras, and she brought them back to David. She had the feeling not looking at David was one of the triggers of that necklace. Now that she thought of it, the man had been wearing a scarf in the morning too.

«It does», she replied. «I… Found you quite dashing. I thought about you all day long.»

Her day had been very short. She had worked until eleven, then walked out of the coffee shop for a cigarette and a snack, only to pass out and wake up at the entrance of the restaurant, with David crouched next to her, trying to shake her awake. She had panicked and tried to run, until he had managed to show her the explosive necklaces they were both wearing, and urgently whispered a «pretend». Then he had dragged her paralyzed, shaky self to her feet, and told her he was _so_ glad she was there for their _date_.

They had been pretending ever since. Obviously, he knew the play better than she did.

«Then this should go well!», he announced, releasing her hands. «I suggest we get to know each other better… See where that takes us. So, are you a college student?»

Sabrina nodded.

«Second year business major», she said, making him smile.

«Brings back memories. Gotham U.?»

«Yes. I wanted to stay close to home, for my f-»

_Fiance._

«Friends», she finished.

David spotted her hesitation and easily translated her words.

«I used to go there, a few years… Decades? Ago», he said. «Does Pr. Forthwidge still teach? There was a rumor he was undead. The age. The looks» - He marked a pause and grinned. - «The _smell._ »

His smile was amazing. It was dashing, and warm, and bright, and his eyes shone with good humor.

«He’s still there», Sabrina replied.

David chuckled and nodded, and emptied his glass.

«Undead teachers aside, Gotham U. is a nice place. The friends you make there will be your friends for life. And Burnside is one of the most entertaining parts of Gotham. I partied my first year away.»

Sabrina stared. He looked too tight-laced.

«You _did_?»

«I did. Then I worked two jobs and got a student loan to pay for my _second_ first year, since my father was none too pleased about my grades.»

The waitress came back to them, bringing them their food, and with it the recollection that they were hostages, the three of them, with explosives wrapped around their necks. David squeezed Sabrina’s hand. She took a deep breath and thanked the waitress, as warmly as she could.

Then, she kept pretending.

 

###

 

Dating Harvey Bullock was not always easy, if only for the fact that Harvey Bullock did not _date_. For someone who was only scared of decaf coffee, he sure ran far and fast away from commitment. And feelings. And mushiness. He would give you the most outrageous courtship, treat you like a queen, be as unrelenting as a Comcast retention specialist, and then… Nothing. There was no mention, ever, of a relationship. You had one-night-stands. Several days a week, for several months.

Scottie didn’t mind. She knew Harvey was not ‘serious boyfriend’ material. Not because he was not, as a person, serious boyfriend material, but because he _did not want_ to be. He would make you feel like a princess and give you his undivided attention for a few select hours a week, then vanish.

Before marrying her mother, Scottie’s dad had a cat. Kimba had been eight years old when his human had brought home a red haired «bundle of joy», and had lived his formative years as the sole company of a neglectful bachelor. He had developed the personality that was to be expected from such a pet.

Kimba had been a cunt.

You could pet him, sometimes, if _he_ initiated it, and if you had razor-sharp reflexes to get your hand out of the way as soon as he had decided he wanted to be left alone. If he initiated the petting, it meant he was hungry. He would hiss if you were too affectionate. He would purposely sit two inches away from the farthest point you could reach. If you moved forward, he moved backwards. He peed on your slippers.

Save for the «urinating on footwear» part, having Harvey around was not very different.

Kimba had brought dead mice to Scottie’s bed until his death, when she was seven. She was well-versed in nonsensical displays of affection.

«Aren’t you gorgeous tonight?» the detective said as she opened the door that evening.

He was lying, because it was laundry day, and she was wearing a washed out tank top over pajama pants. No make-up, either, which meant her eyelashes were invisible and her eyes were displaying not only bags, but an entire Prada factory, courtesy of her kidnapping-induced nightmares.

And Harv’ had brought flowers. It meant he wanted to improve the odds of having sex.

«Thank you», she replied with a grin.

She let him in, and he wrapped himself around her, leaning in for a long, hungry kiss.

Dating Harvey Bullock was not always easy because he would not _talk_ to you. He had visited the night before, and she had seen, plain as day, that something was horribly wrong. But as soon as she had tried to ask, he had grinned and excused himself, pretending he had only been dropping by. Scottie had worked with phobics for years, and she knew that even those who came to her of their own free will were not always straightforward with their stories. Harvey would not even admit he wanted support. So she did not ask questions: she had other ways to help.

«What about we grab Chinese?» he offered.

There was a small restaurant two streets away, and it has not been destroyed nor attacked despite the raging gang war. They went there twice a month.

«I thought we could skip that and go straight to bed», Scottie replied, pulling on Harvey’s tie.

He groaned and dropped all pretense, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to her bedroom. She threw the flowers in the general direction of the sofa along the way, and his hat, then she went for his clothes. He needed to sink into someone. She let him. He did not roll away afterward. He showed no intent to leave. On the contrary, his hands kept wandering over her naked body, in motions more distracted than caressing. Scottie turned to him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

«What’s wrong, Harv’?»

He froze against her, and closed his eyes tightly, and frowned. Then he relaxed - deflated, if you had to be honest - and shook his head.

«Nothing.»

The redhead propped herself up on one elbow, and waited.

«Not sure I can tell _you_ about it», he added in a soft voice, not looking at her.

That was fair enough. You couldn’t tell everyone everything. He still needed to talk to _someone_. You could see the thoughts fighting to get out of him. You could see him reconsider telling _her_ , when he was sure doing so was a bad idea.

«Can you tell _Jim_ , then?»

She had met Jim Gordon three times only, in the aftermath of her abduction, well before Harvey managed to take her on a date. She had not talked to the blond since then. As far as she knew, he didn’t remember her existence. She doubted Harvey had mentioned her. But she was very familiar with everything Jim Gordon. He _was_ Harv’s best friend, and never failed to give the older man reasons to rant. Whining aside, it was clear Harvey worshiped the ground his partner walked on. And he needed to talk.

Harvey chuckled.

«Jim.»

He chuckled again. Then he started laughing. It took him several minutes to calm down, and even after that, he still let out a few breaths that sounded dangerously close to giggling.

«Huh, no», he ended up replying, «I can’t tell Jim. The boy has no idea how to handle _his_ problems, I’m not about to let him get near mine.»

 _That_ _’s what friends do_ , Scottie thought. Then she remembered everything she had heard about the younger cop, and conceded he was probably not the greatest problem solver. Her next thought was «Who else, then?». But there was no one else. Every now and then, Harvey would mention Sarah Essen, but she was his boss more than she was his friend. He had named a «Mike», and a «Robbie», and a «Jack», and a «Tommy»… _Pals_ , all of them. Harvey could call someone a «friend», or a «good friend», or a «friend of a friend», or even a «close friend of mine», but all of _those_ were acquaintances.

He had no one to talk to.

He came to that conclusion at the same time as Scottie did.

«A friend of mine might be dead», he said, not quite looking at her. He took a deep breath. «A _close_ friend. Used to be, ‘nyway.»

The redhead hugged him and held him close. She could fill in the blanks.

«Might?», she asked after a few long, careful moments.

«Her body hasn’t been found», he muttered in a tone as detached as humanly possible. He could have been announcing it would rain the next day.

He was tense enough to snap, and Scottie felt his fist clench and unclench behind her. She stroked his back. All she could do was to let him see she was there, and ready to listen. If she pushed, he would move away. His tension slowly turned to anger, and he started fidgeting. Then he sat up, pushing her away, as if physical contact was already too much. He didn’t look at her either, but at the fist he was clenching and unclenching in front of him.

Scottie sat up too, swallowing her worry and faint sense of rejection. Everyone had different boundaries, but seeing Harvey’s isolation _hurt._ Scottie had never been alone, not a day in her life. She had more friends than she can count. She had a large, warm, loving family. She had set up support groups so people would not have to deal with their fears and issues alone, whereas Harvey had set out to push the world away. And now, he was in pain, and not only did he have to handle it alone, he wanted it that way. Well, not _totally_ that way, or he would have been long gone, she reminded herself. She wrapped her hand around his fist.

He stared at their hands for a moment.

«It would be _so_ much easier if her body had been found», he said at last. «Or if it had been someone _competent_ bragging about having killed her. But all we have so far is some little asswipe of a whiny brat of a mobster who _might_ have had a lucky shot at her and is telling everyone he took her out. It’s so fucking ridiculous it doesn’t register.»

Scottie edged closer, moving her hand to his wrist, elbow, and finally shoulder.

«I’ve been waiting for news», Harvey said.

She wrapped her arms around him.

He let out a sob.

 

###


	4. Chapter 4

«The sobbing is distracting», Oswald said. «Make it stop.»

Victor took a single step towards Gilzean, and stared him down. The pitiful, broken, whiny _thing_ froze and went silent. He was «ready», according to Zsasz. It had only taken one week, which was quite the pleasant surprise for Oswald, who had been prepared to go without Butch’s assistance for much longer. The wretch was a traitor and a liability, doubtlessly, but the club _did_ run more smoothly under his supervision. Cobblepot would have managed the venue perfectly on his own, but his attention was required elsewhere. The war was over. The city was cut apart between his territory, Maroni’s, and that of a few overreaching simpletons who were holding positions they could not possibly defend for long.

Oswald had gained control of most of Don Falcone’s holdings - _most_ \- and was endlessly disturbed by imbeciles who could not figure out how to run a casino or how to get harlots to walk the streets. He spent his life at his new desk, the one he had taken from Carmine just as the rest of his possessions - and dedicated most of his precious time to phone calls with nincompoops. There were a few hiccups (as Oswald’s underlings were woefully incompetent), but business was starting to take off again. Money was streaming in again, though not in quite so large numbers as it had used to. The young mob boss had no doubt he could restore the family to its former glory before the end of the month, as long as some obstacles were removed from his way.

He snapped his fingers so Victor would turn away from his victim. Gilzean jumped. Zsasz, still smiling, looked to Oswald.

«I have a contract for you», the younger man announced, trying not to recoil.

It was ridiculous. This was _Oswald_ _’s_ desk, _his_ office, _his MANSION_ , yet the hitman’s presence was crushing. The monster’s aura seemed to fill the room, and he moved around with the same easy confidence as if he owned the place.

The hitman smiled.

«You do?»

Oswald drummed his fingers on his desk.

«Giulia Maroni needs to die. How much would you charge for her demise?»

Victor chuckled and said nothing.

«How _much_?»

The freak tipped his head left, then right, thinking about it, then chuckled again.

«Two million dollars», he replied after a while, with an uncanny smile that made the corner of his lips twitch.

Cobblepot stared at him. The estimate was so astronomically extravagant that he could not process it.

«I beg your pardon?»

«Two. Million. Dollars», Victor repeated.

Oswald glared at him, and huffed.

«Are you by any chance inflating the price because you do not believe yourself competent enough to handle the task?»

Zsasz answered that with a crazy giggle, then clicked his tongue, and explained himself in slow, exaggerated syllables, as if conversing with a toddler.

«I would have to go through a great many people to get to Mrs. Giulia. So this is not a price for one, but a price for a dozen, including Cristiano Di Antonio, whom I would call… Evenly matched with me, in our particular area. And, after that, a great many people would come after me for revenge, and I would have to handle them 

all.»

Cobblepot glowered. The man knew no shame. He was offered an endless supply of victims, and his reaction was mockery. He didn’t want two millions dollars. He wanted to humiliate Oswald and to toy with him. The younger man was having none of it.

«Very well. I’ll find someone else», he snapped, earning one more chuckle. «And I’ll have to reconsider any future involvement with you. Your lack of professionalism is astounding.»

Victor shrugged, and gave a slight kick to Gilzean’s shoe, prompting the man to jump to his feet with a whimper. Oswald stood up too, before he could stop himself, as he realized the hitman meant to take off with the blubbering fool.

«Where are you taking _him_? I already paid you for his services!»

Zsasz smiled again, so slowly you could tell he was unsure of how to do so properly. He paused for far too long before answering.

«I thought I was _unprofessional_ », he said. «I didn’t, ah, imagine you would want to keep him.»

«Don’t be ridiculous, he has a job to do.»

Oswald looked at Butch and nearly reconsidered. The man was a sniveling mess, which might have been satisfying, but greatly hindered his abilities as a club manager. Moreover, he didn’t seem able to keep himself in check. Maybe letting him go back to Victor’s basement was the better choice: Cobblepot could enjoy both a large refund and the certainty that the pathetic turncoat was suffering.

Gilzean looked at him in despair.

«Don’t let him take me back», he mouthed.

Oswald took a deep breath and sighed. One of those days, his own generosity would be the end of him.

«The clown stays», he ordered. «He has duties to attend, and I had not expected you to be so slow at ‘fixing’ him.»

Victor stared at him, the corners of his lips moving up and down in small contractions. He nodded and walked to the door. Cobblepot feigned indifference and sat down, pulling a sheet of paper to him and pretending to focus on it.

«Oh, and deal with Nabokov. I assume _he_ can be disposed of for less than fifty-thousand dollars?»

The freak stopped and laughed, perfectly silent, then looked back.

«I will», he said, going through the door.

Oswald took a long, shaky breath, trembling with rage. Gilzean crumpled to the floor and started sobbing again.

 

###

 

All things considered, maybe killing Maroni had been a bit of an overreaction. Well, not an overreaction, per se - the guy had it coming - but… Yeah, an overreaction. Fish had not done it because she had to, but because she was _vexed_. She had not cared about her people at all. She had jumped the shark and a _lot_ of people had died.

Still.

Cat did not want her dead. She was pissed, and she would give the lady a piece of her mind if she ever found her, but she wanted her alive and well, and… There was no body, so there was hope. Not that Cat was overly optimistic or anything. But there was no body, so she was looking, and she wasn’t the only one. The first few days, the docks had been crawling with Maroni and Cobblepot’s men. They had mostly given up, though a few teams were still searching the riverside, farther and farther away from Falcone’s safehouse. They weren’t expecting to find anything. Selina had eavesdropped on both sides, and the men were mostly walking around to keep their bosses around. As far as they were concerned, Fish Mooney was ‘sleeping with her pals’. «Ha ha ha».

Not everyone had given up. Cat had a _feeling_ , and she trusted her intuition a lot. It had served her well. And someone else trusted his gut as much as she trusted hers, because that someone had been steadily walking along the river for three evenings in a row, stopping every now and then to inspect this or that. If this hadn’t been Gotham, and if he hadn’t been _him_ , he could have pretended he was just taking a stroll or something. He didn’t especially hurry, and he littered the paths with cigar butts, and he wasn’t about to do _anything_ to get himself out of breath. Selina had always thought he was kind of a smelly, lazy ass, and he was not giving her any reason to change her mind. Then again, Fish had trusted him, and he was looking for her. It was a point in his favor. Cat had checked him on him regularly from afar since she had first spotted him, in case he got lucky.

He didn’t. Cat didn’t either. So she ended up dropping next to him from her perch on a warehouse’s roof, on that third evening, and got a gun to her face for her trouble.

«Wooooohhh!» she exclaimed, raising her hands.

«What the… You just gave me the scare of my life, kiddo!» Bullock snapped, not lowering his weapon.

«Yeah, right, what about you point that thing elsewhere, old man?»

«What, you don’t like it when you’re on the wrong end of the barrel? _It_ _’s not pleasant, is it?_ »

The guy could hold a grudge. At least he was exercising proper trigger discipline - probably the only discipline he had ever exercised - and his finger was resting on the side of his gun. Not that it was reassuring, or safe, for that matter.

« _You_ _’ve made your point!_ », she shouted. «Drop the gun already!»

He grunted and put the weapon back into his hostler.

«Thought I’d never see your face again. A smart kid would be halfway to the west coast by now.»

Selina shrugged.

«Then again, it’s not like you’re _smart_ », Bullock added as an afterthought. «What possessed you to join Fish’s little circus of horrors?»

Fish had talked about him, a little. «Strange bedfellows, aren’t we?», she had said. She had called him a friend. And, when they had caught Jim, and Falcone, and the psychopathic weirdo that was Oswald Cobblepot, and Bullock, in that safehouse… Fish had spared him. «We’re cool». And he’d been standing right next to Butch while Salvatore Maroni was getting himself killed. Of course, right after that, he had tried to escape with Falcone and Gordon. He was not what you’d call a faithful friend, unless you were Jim douchebag Gordon.

But he was still searching for Fish.

«Find anything?» Cat asked, choosing to ignore the insults.

«Now what would have I found? I’m just taking a stroll.»

Selina snorted. He stared her down.

«Go home, kid. Or go wherever. Just let it go. She’s not coming back.»

The girl shrugged.

«You don’t know that.»

«Like hell I don’t.»

«You don’t know that. If you knew for sure, you wouldn’t be looking.»

He shrugged, and lit a cigar.

«Whoever brings her corpse to Cobblepot gets two hundred grands, didn’t’cha hear?»

«Yeah, right, I wouldn’t trust the guy to _pay_ , if I were you.»

Bullock rolled his eyes and walked away. He was tall but heavy, and his pace wasn’t the quickest. The teenager followed. He was set on being silent, and she let him. They were going the same direction anyway, and she was probably safer with him and his gun.

«You really didn’t find anything?» she asked again a while later, as he crushed his cigar on the ground with his heel.

The night was falling, and she stared at the dying orange sparks among the ashes for a second or so.

«You’re not about to drop it, are you?» he grumbled.

«Prolly not.»

The detective sighed.

«Get it through your thick little skull: she ain’t company for a teenage girl. If she came back - _and that_ _’s a big fucking if_ \- you’d do well to keep the hell away. For a start, kid… Organized crime? Really? _How much of a dumbass are you?_ »

«Better benefits than unorganized crime», Selina pointed out.

The cop glared at ther.

«And be that as it may, benefits or not, Fish is _nuts_. Batshit crazy. In case you failed to notice. Nothing good can come of sticking with her.»

The teenager was not blind, but snorted as if Bullock’s words didn’t make sense.

«Aren’t you her friend?»

«Yeah, well, she was not crazy when _I_ met her. What’s your excuse?»

« _I_ _’m_ not her friend. I don’t even care», Cat retorted.

The man stared at her, not exactly _saying_ «I see through your bullshit», but thinking it loud enough. She fidgeted and looked away, shrugging once again, and then once more, sharply.

«You really found _nothing_?» she asked again, in a slightly broken voice, when he failed to talk or look away.

He paused, and sighed, and shook his head.

«Jack shit, kiddo. Let it go.»

She huffed and shrugged _again_ , then she just put on her best unconcerned expression.

«Too bad. Good luck, then», she said, climbing on the nearest wall to run away.

He watched her go, which she knew, because she watched him in return, well after she got out of his sight. Then she stalked him for the rest of his «stroll», until he returned to his car, sank into the driver seat, and pulled a dark piece of clothing from a duffel bag on the passenger seat. It was a dark coat, black and red, lined with fur.

 

###

 

Sabrina put on some eyeliner, and smiled, and some lipstick, and smiled, and took a step away from the mirror, and smiled.

If she cried, as she was inclined to do, her collar started beeping.

It had been a week. After six dates with David, she was starting to get a better understanding of the rules. On that first evening, after her abduction and their first date, he had walked her «home». «Home» was a mobile home underground, in a «street» made of six identical prefabricated buildings, with a sky made of painted concrete and rows of floodlights. The street and homes were surrounded by «woods», or rather a forest themed wallpaper, with photographs of birch trees. At the very end of the street, there was a gigantic screen, where their instructions were printed. So, after David had led her out of the restaurant through the back exit - the only one usable - they had found themselves at the very end of the street, facing the screen, and her new address.

«Sabrina Bakerton, 4 Gardenia Lane.»

And David had walked her home, and told her what a great evening it had been, and attempted to kiss her. That was when the necklace had beeped for the first time, when Sabrina had jumped away. She had frozen at the noise and at his panicked face, and braced herself. Then he _had_ kissed her. After making sure the camera on the side of the door caught their profiles.

«If you need me, I live right next door», he had said, pointing at number three.

He had squeezed her hands, nearly crushing them, so she would be ready for what she would find inside, but she had not been. She had opened to door to be greeted by Fishstick, her _cat_ , her living tabby cat, the one who was supposed to be waiting for her in her flat in Burnside. She had found her own coat laying on the sofa, and her own clothes in the closet, and her own sheets on the bed. Everything had been brought straight from her apartment to her cell.

She had panicked. She had screamed and shouted and wailed and ran outside to try to find a way out, following the walls of the gigantic room «Gardenia Lane» had been built in. She had tried to find an exit, and located stairs going up, up, up, to the ceiling. But when she had tried to climb them, David had caught her. He had pointed at his collar and gestured a «hush» - that was how she knew there was a microphone in the damn thing - and then he had brought her «home» again.

The next morning, after she had passed out in a corner of her living room, she had found the instructions under the door. They were simple, and illustrated with colorful clip-arts. «Beep… Beep… Beep…» meant «smile». «Beep Beep Beep» meant «explosion».

So she smiled, and went on dates with David when the screen at the end of the street prompted her to.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go and assume no one cares about the case, but I'm having tons of fun with this one.


	5. Chapter 5

«Didn’t we agree this was in Alvarez’s hands?», Essen said, snatching the Ogre case files from Jim’s desk.

The blond sighed and leaned back in his chair, nodding. It was not his case anymore. He knew that. Sarah had not _exactly_ chewed him out on not having passed the torch to another detective as soon as Lennon had abducted Barbara - no cop would have been willing, anyway - but she had nevertheless mentioned he should have. For a few days, they had let it rest. The killer was dead and the case as good as closed. All that was left to do was identifying several of the Ogre’s victims, and that task had been given to Alvarez.

Then Barbara had attempted to kill Leslie and confessed to her parents’ murder.

The autopsy’s finding were not sufficient to incriminate her, but they could not prove her innocence either. The forensics report was just as useless. That being said, Barbara had admitted to the murders to both her therapists and Alvarez, and there was little doubt left. Jim did not even try deluding himself. There was a tape of her confession in the Kean’s evidence box, and a transcript to go with it.

«Don’t bother reading it», Alvarez had warned Jim. «She changes her story every time she tells it. And stop _visiting_. It won’t help.»

Jim had read the transcript.

He had thought he suspected, in the previous weeks. He had thought he knew, because he had seen the Ogre’s torture room, and he could figure out what the stun sticks and blades and whips were for. He had seen the results of torture in fellow soldiers. He knew how insidious and sickening it could be psychologically, how the torturers would balance pain and relief, cruelty and false compassion. But, at the end of the day, Jim could not think like a monster, and when he tried to imagine what Barbara had gone through… It somehow did not register. He could patch together the worst stories he had heard during his training, and in the army, and random bits and parts of the worst cases the GCPD had to deal with, and even a few select scenes from movies in the vein of Saw and Seven. It had not occurred to him that someone could profess eternal love while electrocuting a woman out of consciousness, nor convince her that holding a knife to her throat as he raped her was a display of affection. But Lennon had done so and it had _worked._ Barbara did not have a word to say against him.

Alvarez was probably right when he insisted Jim should stop visiting, but the blond felt like he had to go all the same. No one else would.

«Where is Bullock?» Essen asked. «A new case just came in.»

«Personal call, I’ll fetch him. What is the story?»

«A female body was found under Tricorner Bridge. No ID yet, from what I understand it is very damaged and has spent a few days underwater.»

Jim nodded. Corpses surfacing along the river were a common occurrence in Gotham. Criminals loved to fake suicides, or just to dispose of their victims in a fast and mostly secure way. If you didn’t botch it, the bodies were never seen again. The river had not been dragged in two decades, and it had only be done because a mayor had drowned.

«I’m on my way», he announced, grabbing his coat and hurrying down the stairs.

Harvey was not in the locker room, but he found him easily enough, smoking in front of the precinct. He was on the phone - as most of the time lately - and followed Jim to the car with no complain, cutting his call short.

«New stiff?»

«Not so new, if Essen is to be believed. Just found a little late.»

«So where’we goin’?»

«Tricorner.»

«Can we stop for burritos on the way? It’s _lunch time_ », Harv' pointed out.

«I love how your lunch time extends from ten in the morning to four in the afternoon», Jim retorted, getting their car out of the parking spot.

«It’s noon, jackass.»

Jim grinned.

«And you vanished for that call two hours ago», he pointed out as he drove out of the parking lot, «which mean you’ve been doing nothing for muuuuch longer than what your lunch time covered. And you haven’t even eaten.»

«Well _one_ of us has to be nice and keep in touch with his informants, or we’d get nowhere, ever, right?»

«Right.»

«And if you’re gonna nag me about that, I’d like to point out you’ve been all doom and gloom and personal business all morning again. Don’t think for a second I didn’t hear you got the Kean’s files from Miss Kringle. Again.»

Jim tensed and said nothing. His partner sighed.

«Please stop doing that to yourself. I’ve been lenient so far but it’s got to stop.»

«I’m just making sure Alvarez is doing a good job.»

Surprisingly, Harvey did not push. Not immediately, anyway. He took the time to light a cigar and to smoke it, which brought them in sight of Tricorner Bridge.

«I know people told you already», he grumbled. «I know _Lee_ told you. And Alvarez, and a few doctors, I’ll bet. But I get what’s going through your head, so I’m _not_ going to tell you to stop going to see her.»

«You’re not», Jim replied, midway between a question and an order.

«I’m not. What I’m going to tell you is that she’s gone. Take it from the resident expert on crazy-ass exes. She’s gone. Nothing you can do to bring her back.»

Jim stared at the road and drove a little slower, aware his focus was slipping.

Barbara’s behavior was unnerving. It was off in small and subtle ways, and it was off in broad and brutal strokes at the same time. She acted more or less like herself, when she shouldn’t have, and as a totally different person the rest of the time. She was never hostile, she was never unpleasant. She didn’t get angry, which wasn’t like her. Or maybe it was. She had smiled a lot at the beginning of their relationship. The bitterness and the cold anger had settled in much later, as their relationship degraded. Now, she was pleasant all the time, and elegant, and perfect. She barely interacted with the other inmates, and would occupy her time with books and art. She talked to the nurses and guards, in such a _sane_ way that Jim sometimes wondered why Arkham kept her at all.

It became eerie if you took a step back, and a long hard look at her ladylike act, when the lunatics around her were ranting and screaming and speaking in tongues. The quiet acceptance of her surroundings. The serenity. The impeccable politeness. And the blank stare she would give if prompted on _any_ sensitive topic.

«Are you a psychiatrist, now?»

«I was there when Leslie woke her up, Jimbo», Harvey reminded him.

He was talking of that long, dreadful night after Fish Mooney’s ambush. Jim’s brain had been on autopilot back then, after a day that had exhausted him into a state of blankness, up to the point he had not even been able to react to the sight of a passed out Barbara, and to Leslie telling him the blonde had just assaulted her. He had just tuned it out, making sure Barbara would be shackled to the guest room’s bed when she woke up, so he could deal with it all _later_.

Leslie had taken a quarter of an hour to recover from the attack and gone to tend to Barbara’s possible injuries. She had not warned Jim, but had ordered Harvey to supervise.

From what Gordon had been told, his ex-fiancée had been neither serene nor ladylike when she had returned to consciousness.

«It doesn’t mean she can’t get better.»

«I wouldn’t keep my hopes up if I were you, but even then… You have to concede that if someone can fix her, it isn’t you. It can’t be you. She’s holding a grudge the size of Canada.»

Jim sighed, parked - as they were in sight of their crime scene - and got out of the car.

«She seems to be doing better», he lied.

«She’s _faking it_. Remember when she went and tricked Leslie into nearly getting herself murdered?»

The younger man shook his head. He did.

«It doesn’t mean there’s…»

«Detective Gordon! Detective Bullock! This way», Nygma called them from afar.

He was standing next to the river, surrounded by a buzzing crowd of patrolmen and forensic investigators. Jim and Harvey joined him.

«Aren’t you glad you didn’t get that burrito?» Jim asked when they saw the corpse.

«Oh, for fuck’s sake», his partner moaned.

The body had spent a good amount of time in the river and was bloated beyond recognition, the flesh cracking and falling apart in large chunks, under what had been a white summer dress. It was clear that not all of the damage could be blamed on the water. It lacked a jaw, the neck was torn to the bone, and the shoulders were ripped apart, shards of metal embedded deep within the flesh. Patches of long red hair and rotten skin were sliding away from the skull.

Edward did not fill them in on the cause of death. He did not even attempt a riddle. He had been withdrawn lately, and Jim idly wondered if he had been reprimanded again. Leslie ended up explaining the injuries.

«Initial exam of the wounds indicates that an explosive device was circling the victim’s neck. As you can see, the trachea is exposed and lacerated, and the jawbone was torn apart. There’s also extensive damage to the upper teeth and to the palate, with fragments of the device embedded in the flesh. There’s clear evidence of lesser charges of the explosive detonating at the back of the head, but I’ll tell you more once we get to the morgue. The state of the body makes it hard to check for other wounds, but I found no lacerations that were not caused by the bomb, and I see no bruising.»

«That’s just messed up. Explosive device around the neck, you mean a necklace or something?» Harvey asked.

«Exactly. There’s a very clear pattern of burning and shrapnel.»

Jim took a closer look.

«Could it be a suicide bomber?»

«I doubt it. The range of the explosion would have been very short, or you would see damage much lower on the abdomen.»

«And here I was telling myself we only had nice cases this month», Bullock muttered.

 

###

 

You grew used to Victor’s presence. It was unsettling at first, much like being observed by a large spider, but you quickly realized the man had the wit and forward-thinking of the average slug. He hovered around Oswald as he had hovered around Don Falcone: like a stray dog waiting for scraps. As much as he teased and bargained on the subject of Giulia Maroni’s assassination, he was happy enough to take care of every other contract Oswald threw his way. This mobster, that snitch, and whomever came to Cobblepot’s mind when he felt the hitman was growing impatient.

«Are you bored?» he once asked, annoyed by the freak’s fidgeting. «Just bring me the head of some hobo. Any hobo, there’s hardly a shortage of them. I’ll pay you fifty cents.»

Zsasz had chuckled at that, and did as asked, which had prompted a discussion on the meaning of «being literal» and «using figures of speech». What was Oswald to do with the lice-ridden head of some crack addict?

Save for those little hiccups, Cobblepot found the man’s presence practical. You couldn’t ask for a better bodyguard, and he was unlikely to spy or cheat. He was a simple creature with simple needs. You had to keep him away from Gilzean, who still collapsed into a sniveling mess in his torturer’s presence, but that was easily accomplished by keeping the lowly henchman at the club.

Most of the time, it was a fine arrangement.

Every now and then, Zsasz would display a sliver of will. It tended to happen when Jim Gordon’s name was mentioned. Oswald had noticed it from the very start - that start being the day the hitman had first been sent after the cop - and thus did not miss the monster’s intent look the first time he overheard a phone call to the detective.

«What I am saying, _Jim_ , is that I find it downright disgraceful that you would arrest my employee on blatantly trumped-up charges», Oswald explained to his interlocutor as he observed Victor’s reaction, «when I have been nothing but a friend to you. I’m starting to wonder if you are indeed the good and honest man I believed you were.»

He barely paid attention to Jim’s answer to that. He was growing tired of the cop’s disrespect and temper. Once upon a time, he had hoped for a mutually beneficial relationship (the scales heavily tipped in his favor, obviously), but it was evident that Gordon was unable to cooperate. He was an imbecile, which was a point in his favor and a wonderful string to pull, but his constant tantrums made him a very tedious pawn to move around.

Cobblepot still paused on a particular line.

«Your ‘not working with criminals’ argument does hardly hold water. I seem to recall you recently volunteered to be Carmine Falcone’s bodyguard. It may have escaped your notice, but he is a bad, _bad_ person. Need I put it more bluntly, or in simpler terms? Has your memory grown short? Should I remind you of the day he ordered you to slaughter me?»

Zsasz was smiling and tilting his head towards the desk, blatantly eavesdropping. He licked his lips, and Oswald frowned. This wouldn’t do. He nearly hung up on Jim, but the detective beat him to the punch. Cobblepot sent the phone flying.

«Need any help with _Jim_?» Victor asked.

«No, thank you very much.»

«He’s treating you… Very, very badly», the creep pointed out with a smile (not that Oswald needed his input to be aware of the fact).

«And I will punish him for it, but _not_ by letting you cut him to pieces as you are bound to do. I’m not about to let his potential go to waste. No, I _will_ teach him how to behave, but I will do it my way.»

The killer’s face twitched in displeasure.

«He’s a liability. I kept telling Don Falcone.»

«Well, that ‘liability’ helped Carmine get out of town, so clearly your advise was as moronic as it was out of line.»

Victor took a long breath, jaw clenched, and Oswald though he had maybe gone too far. He reached for the gun attached under his desk.

«I have a plan for Gordon», he added.

The smile climbed back on Zsasz’s face, in twitches and spasms.

«You have a ‘plan’», the monster railed.

«I have a plan for everything», Oswald snapped back, his fear replaced by mere annoyance.

He always had a plan.

Victor had a point, however. He was being entirely too forgiving of Gordon’s antics.

 

###

 

Sabrina woke up every morning and checked the screen (The Screen, really) to see when and where she was to meet David. They had a date every day, and it usually used up to four hours of her evening, but she had nothing else to do.

Her jailor didn’t want her bored stiff. Her «home» came with a television, a magnetoscope, and a collection of video tapes. She could occupy herself by watching «Kate and Leopold», or «Pretty woman», or «Sleepless in Seattle», and of course «When Harry met Sally». If she didn’t feel in the mood for movies, she had been provided with a collection of books, such as «Pride and Prejudice», «Bridget Jone’s diary», «Lord of scoundrels», and a metric fuckton of variations of «The Whatever-Titled English Nobleman and Some Girl».

The artificial lights of The Street reminded her too much of her captivity, she rarely went out before David collected her, but she had wandered around the other houses. Only David’s seemed occupied. Number 1 and number 2’s doors were locked, and the blinds closed. She had asked David about them, making sure to remain in character, but his answer has been very vague.

«Newlyweds used to live there», he had replied, pointing at the first house. «I think they moved. I didn’t keep in touch. As for number two, that’s Sophie and Nate’s house. You have met her. She works at the restaurant. As for Nate, he travels a lot.»

The terrified waitress served them during most of their dates, yet Sabrina had never seen her leave her «workplace», and she had yet to cross path with Nate.

«Have you lived here for long?»

«About six weeks. Shall we have a picnic today?»

Food would appear in their homes as they slept, or while they were on dates. David’s suits vanished and came back dry-cleaned. Fishstick «found» some cat toys.

Sabrina had never been more terrified. There was no escape from the cameras, either: they were everywhere, in every room of her house, in the street, in the little corner shop stocked with three magazines and four food cans, and in the restaurant. Her necklace would beep as soon as her face betrayed her fear, however, so the young woman smiled most of the time, except in absolute darkness. She found _some_ relief in David’s company. He was a good man, or at least he acted the part. He was nice, and his tenderness and worry seemed genuine, but he would slip every now and then. Sabrina would see the cold fury simmering just beneath the surface, and feel chilled.

He had tried to communicate without words, drawing letters in her palm as they lounged on a bench in the plastic garden.

«I A-M S-O-R-R-Y», he had written, excruciatingly slowly. «I C-A-N O-N-L-Y S-O-F-T-E-N T-H-E B-L-O-W-S.»

He was a much better actor than she was, and he always calmed her when her necklace started warning her.

She had lost track of the time since her abduction when The Screen ordered David to «stay for coffee» after a date. They read the message at the same time and stared at each other. He quickly erased the shock from his face. She failed, and heard beeping. _Maybe it_ _’s just coffee_ , she told herself. She let him in.

David being David, he was wonderfully warm and caring as they drank and discussed. And he was nice enough to try to leave as the clock hit midnight.

His necklace started beeping. Slowly, but David never had to be warned, or very rarely. He stopped, closed the door, and turned to Sabrina. The girl felt her stomach turn to stone and her knees to jelly, as the terror sank in. She couldn’t do _that_. She couldn’t. She had only ever slept with _two_ boys, one of them being her fiancé. Kissing David was bad enough, and they had to, but she couldn’t do it _all_. Not with the cameras everywhere, even in her bedroom. Even _without_ the cameras.

She shook her head and moved away, swallowing a sob. She didn’t manage to hold the second in. Her necklace beeped, over and over again.

«I can’t», she whispered, taking another step back.

David’s mask slipped. The concern and warmth turned to exasperation. The pity vanished. A moment passed. He breathed in, and put on such a loving, sincere smile that Tom Hanks and Hugh Jackman could have learned from his acting skills. Then, he joined Sabrina and grabbed her hands, and made sure they survived.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can some English speaker tell me if I'm supposed to use the possessive "'s' thing after a "Z", or just an apostrophe, or nothing (like "Zsasz's knife" or "Alvarez's case")? I can't figure it out. Thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

Harvey walked home at nine in the evening, with a can of beer, a burrito from the closest joint, and bone-deep weariness. Only in Gotham did you get called to three crime scenes in a day. Thankfully, save for the girl with the blown-up head who had been fished out of the river, the murders had been good old-fashioned passion crimes, nothing crazy. Some lady had shot her junkie of a husband, and some guy had beaten his ex’s new boyfriend to death. Easy confessions, both of those cases, once Harvey had raised his voice a little.

The «explosive necklace» girl was something else entirely. Leslie and Nygma had taken care of the autopsy, and picked shrapnel from as far as the girl’s toes. A part of that shrapnel was jawbone. It was the kind of weird-ass killing who usually had Nerd-boy on a little cloud, but he had been in a piss-poor mood lately, and his observations had been terse and to the point. No riddles.

No lying there, Harvey had nearly felt concerned.

Regardless of Eddie’s mood, there wasn’t much to be told. You weren’t gonna find a manufacturer for explosive jewelry. That kind of crap tended to be custom-made by psychos. They had made a few inquiries around the companies that sold ammonium hydroxide and iodine, but the list was long, and the customer records longer. The girl herself was a Jane Doe. Dental was not exactly an option, and running what was left of her prints would take ages. There was no shortage of missing redheads, and Jim was browsing through piles of reports, but Harvey was pretty sure it would lead nowhere. They had covered the recent disappearances already, with no matches, and a few details seemed to indicate the victim had not been held captive for long, if she had ever been. She had died with a fresh manicure - pink, glittery plastic nails - and in a dress that came straight out Abercrombie’s most recent catalog. Chances were no one knew she was missing.

It sucked but, at the end of the day, Harvey did not dwell on it. If you closed two cases in a day, you counted your blessings. The weird, gory one could wait. You knew you’d never see it to the end.

What you did was clear your mind with booze until you passed out. That helped.

He unlocked his door, threw his coat on the back of a chair as he walked in, and sank into the sofa, opening his beer can. Then he turned the TV on and cranked the volume up, as he had heard shifting in the bedroom. He grabbed his gun and went to wait next to the door. It was the only way out: the window frames were good old fashioned wood that distended and bloated on rainy days, and you couldn’t open them without some effort. Lately, you couldn’t open them, period.

It took a few minutes for the intruder to risk an exit, and she found herself facing the barrel of a gun. Again.

«Oh, come on!» she wailed.

«This is becoming an habit», Harvey remarked, moving the weapon away from Kyle’s forehead. «The hell are you doing here?»

He didn’t have to ask. She was looking for news about Fish. She had probably found her coat, too. He had stuffed it at the top of his closet, inside a duffel bag and behind three others, but that kid could smell trouble from a planet away. It was probably the first place she had searched.

«Did’ya find anything else?» the brat asked. «I saw the cloak.»

Harvey slipped his piece back into his holster.

«Get out. Out, out, out, now.»

«I’m gonna keep asking!»

«OUT!» the cop shouted. Then he reconsidered. «After you empty your pockets.»

The girl huffed.

«You seriously think there’s anything worth stealing in this _ditch_?» she snapped, gesturing at the crumbling furniture and the TV he had bought used a decade before. «What do you think I snatched? Your one jar of mayo?»

So she had even snooped into the fridge.

«Pockets», Harvey repeated, since he knew of her track record.

She puffed and emptied her pockets on the sideboard, dropping his lighter, a matchbox, silver cuff-links he would have pawned years before if he had known he still had them, and two handfuls of tampons.

«I left two in the box», she announced, misreading the look on his face. «I’m not a bitch.»

He had been thinking of how many weird things had appeared in his flat since he had started seeing Scottie, and of how it was maybe time to start to worry.

He collected the matchbox, the lighter and the cuff-links.

«You can keep those», he grumbled, waving at the tampons, that vanished in a blink. « _Now_ get out.»

The kid did not move.

«Can’t you go harass _Jim?_ » he asked. «Jim _likes_ you. At least he did before you went and delivered him to Fish. He didn’t mention you since. Maybe he’s not pissed.»

She tensed.

«Yeah, well, even _you_ are better company than Gordon.»

He lifted an eyebrow at the anger in her voice. Then he grabbed her by the hood and dragged her to the exit.

«Was a pleasure meeting you», he said as he pushed her out. « _Don_ _’t come back._ »

It took the little pest less than five minutes to sneak back in through the living room window. Harvey, who had been trying to enjoy his (lukewarm) burrito, tensed but did not turn.

«She did not tell me you used to be, like, _together_ », the girl said.

So she had unearthed his old photos too. She was long overdue for a kick to the ass.

«Probably because it’s none of your business», he replied. «Do I need to shoot you? I can shoot you.»

She jumped on the sofa, crouching on the cushions, and stared him down.

«You know you can just tell me what you found and I’ll be on my way.»

He glared back, chewing on his food in perfect silence. Her stomach grumbled, and her eyes moved down to the burrito. She caught herself and looked back up.

«Come oooon», she insisted. «You found that coat _somewhere_.»

Harvey took a sip of his beer.

Maria was a smart woman. From the looks of it, after Penguin had pushed her into the river, she had let the current carry her halfway across town. Picking up her trail had been a stroke of luck. He’d thought she would feel safe in the red lights district, what with her having grown up there and all. Not that her childhood had been uneventful. It had taught her to survive, though. She would have felt safe in those streets because her orphaned teenage self had clawed her way out, and Fish Mooney was nowhere as weak and helpless as that scrawny kid.

«She’s dead», he told Selina Kyle. «Bullet wound took her out.»

It was a lie, and the young thief had to see through it, but there was no point telling her the truth.

He had found bloodstains on a wet, slimy staircase that led out of the river and into the Narrows. The blood trail was thin but could be found if you knew what to look for. It had led Harvey to the nearest alley, where Fish had discarded her coat, pushing it into a manhole and leaving a washed-out pool of blood on the pavement in the process. She had rested a few feet away, then made her way out of the alley and vanished.

The cop could have pretended she had stopped the bleeding, but he didn’t think so. There were dark marks on the concrete where the trail ended, the kind of dark scuffs you saw when black rubber soles scraped the floor. Someone had been dragged. Someone had fought. Harvey had looked around for a few days, pretending Fish could have backtracked, and followed the river to the sea, but he _knew_. She’d been taken, and he had no idea by who. Maroni’s side would have given her a brutal and much publicized execution. Cobblepot, little cunt of a wannabe that he was, would have bragged endlessly. And both sides had made it known that they would pay Fish’s weight in gold to get their hands on her, death of alive, so any sane person would have delivered her, stat. Which left the lunatics and the creeps.

Harvey didn’t even know where to begin to search. A long buried part of himself was scared shitless.

«Then where’s your two hundred grands?» the girl asked.

«My what now?»

«The reward for the proof of her death.»

«Would you just _fuck off_ already?»

«Just tell me where you found the stupid coat and I’ll look for her on my own! I won’t bother you again. You think I _wanna_ see your face?»

He took a deep, angry breath.

«Do you have a thing for suicide or something? The mob already knows you’re the Wayne murder witness. How much deeper into shit do you think you’re gonna be if they think you’re Maria’s best pal?»

The brat jumped back and clenched her teeth. She glared for a few moments. Then she left.

 

###

 

Giulia crossed her legs and looked out of the car window as the driver led it away from her safe house. It was rainy, which was good news, as the boys were not inclined to leave their bedroom. They spent their days playing the nintendo and enjoying their impromptu holiday. They were safe, or would be for a while.

She pressed her phone closer to her ear, distractedly listening to the polite greeting of her most frequent caller.

«I swear, Carmine, for a retired man, you are strangely invested in the city’s fate.»

«You know me. I’m incorrigible. Sixty years caring about only one thing will leave you slightly bewildered. But I’m glad to say I’m making progress.»

«So you _do_ like Trinidad, after all?»

«I _do_ like Trinidad. It’s a beautiful place. Very sunny, which is an adjective I never had the opportunity to utter in Gotham.»

«I’m glad to hear it. What do you want?»

«I just wanted to inquire about that loose end I mentioned a few weeks ago.»

Giulia paused and looked at the driver, who was intently pretending not to eavesdrop. The woman worked for Rino Pontarelli, one of Salvatore’s lieutenant who operated in Blüdhaven, and had come to Gotham to assist with the reorganization of the family. She was a latina in her thirties or so, with long black hair and a thin, pinched face. She was also an undercover detective from MCU, which Giulia had not informed Rino of yet. She had merely requested the «driver’s» services, as she weighed her options. Salvatore - ever the flatterer - used to call the cop «that horse-faced whore». He also said she had to be the one officer on the force whom could not be bribed. That integrity had motivated Giulia to keep her alive. She could do with a driver too honest to shoot her in the back.

The downside was that she had to watch her words. Up to a point.

«He’s fine», she told Carmine. «Unfortunately. He and Cobblepot are joined at the hip, lately, which is not surprising. Their brand of crazy is fairly similar. You’ll understand that, in my position, I can’t afford a full blown assault on that mansion the boy stole from you, right?»

«I understand. Your family’s safety comes first, it goes without saying.»

«I’m saying it anyway. But I _did_ try to lure the maniac out.»

«Did you?»

«Yes, through the simplest channels. I offered him a contract. Unfortunately, he sent one of his girlfriends to arrange the terms, so I just made a very unreasonable offer and let her go.»

Giulia studied Renee Montoya’s face. The woman was frowning, clearly listening in. So, she now knew Victor Zsasz was a target. It was a very important, yet very useless piece of information, as every sane person under the sun would react to the news with «Oh, thank God!».

«The longer he is left in Oswald’s hands, the more dangerous he will be, my dear», Falcone remarked. «I know your position is precarious, but do not let the situation get out of hand. Victor cares not a bit about his job. What he cares about is the killing. Keeping him in my employ was a way to redirect - contain - his urges… But Penguin cares little about moderation, and he has no sense. I fear Zsasz will devolve more quickly in his company than on his own.»

«You know what I love about you, Carmine?»

«I’m about to be enlightened.»

«When you imply the people around you are blind fools, you do so very politely. But you can save your breath. How stupid do you think I am? Of course that sociopathic little snitch will make Zsasz worse. He makes everyone worse.»

That got Falcone to pause.

«I apologize, my dear, I didn’t mean to insult you.»

She wondered if he was actually sorry, or just surprised to have been called out on his crap. It probably had not happened to him in forty years.

«If I manage to solve this particular loose end, I’ll let you know», she said, ignoring the apology. «In the meant-»

The car went flying as a van rammed into it. It spun for an eternity. There was a white flash, and the world went still, and Guilia tasted blood. She stared as red droplets fell on her lap, then snapped out of it, and detached her seatbelt with shaking hands.

 _Gun, grab your gun_.

The door opened and Montoya dragged her out.

«Take cover», the cop snapped, pulling her against the side of the car.

There were gunshots. The car’s windows cracked. The cop mumbled curses and attempted to shoot their assailants. Giulia’s body felt like cotton wool, weak and limp and unresponsive. She reached under her skirt all the same, retrieving her handgun from her holster. There would be hell to pay. There would _absolutely_ be hell to pay, provided she got out of the ambush alive.

 _If Penguin wants to play it that way, he_ will _get that full blown assault on that damn mansion._

Montoya shot again and hit her mark. Her boss - or target, depending on the point of view - wasted a few bullets, but got one good shot in. There was a third man left, who quickly understood he was outnumbered and could not hit them both at the same time. He took cover behind the van and did not move. The two women did the same. Minutes passed, with some baiting and insults from Montoya’s side. Guilia just collected her breath, and her wits. She wrapped her shawl around her mouth. Then she reached for her purse, dug through it, and debated for a second on the best grenade to use. She decided the tear gas could backfire, so she went for the flashbang.

A few moments later, a very dazzled henchman found himself facing two loaded guns.

Twenty minutes after that, he found himself facing Cristiano.

 

###


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very nice to my OCs.  
> I'm not very nice in general.

Only in Gotham.

It was Oswald’s first thought as he read the gazette’s headline: «Fake CPS workers snatch children from home». He shook his head - _your usual Monday in town_ \- and sipped his tea. He felt positively serene. He spread blackcurrant jam over his still warm homemade bread, and took a hearty, cheerful bite.

Then Zsasz walked in.

The freak appeared overly smug, as Oswald had expected.

«I hear Giulia Maroni caught your men», Victor taunted him. Or attempted to.

«My men? What in the world are you talking about?»

The hitman chuckled and shook his head.

«She knows they were yours. She will come for you.»

«That would be surprising, seeing how they themselves do not know who they belonged to. Even I was unable to track down their employer.»

Oswald had made sure to ask around, as if he had been surprised by the attempt on the bitch’s life. It was all pretend. He knew it, and she knew it. But there was no proof. The three thugs had been hired through a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of an enemy, and that through purely verbal communication. And after that enemy had given the instructions to his acquaintance, as he was bound to do with the fate of his infant daughter hanging in the balance, he had fallen asleep with a cigarette.

Giulia might not have needed proof to strike back, but her forces were stretched thin. In the meantime, Oswald had equipped the mansion with good old fashioned weaponry, all of it pointing at the entrances. Gabe had recruited a fairly efficient team of guards. Oswald was never more than ten feet away from a perfectly concealed panic room, room he had discovered by accident while studying the house’s floor plan. He felt safe. Gone were the days when he had to cower in fear and beg for protection. Now, he was the one his enemies needed to be protected from. Having Miriam Loeb as a guest was also quite an advantage, as the entirety of the police force (save for one very obnoxious Jim Gordon) was now inclined to ensure his continued good health.

And Zsasz. Zsasz’s recurrent visits were a blessing in disguise. No one was crazy enough to raid the mansion when the maniac was present. His company left much to be desired but, in view of its benefits, Oswald was willing to overlook that small issue. Victor was content enough to dawdle around the place, his attempts to converse only occasional. He was ghoulish and frightening, true, but he was also easily managed, and harmless when you knew how to distract him.

The crime lord finished his toast and focused on the gazette. Without that nonsensical «fake child protective services employees» abduction story, it would have been a slow news day. A body found in the river, a law firm going bankrupt, complaints about the airport from some disgruntled flown-over citizens. Some appeasing speech from mayor James. No, really, with the gang war over, the city was going back to normal. As for that kidnapping case, it stretched belief. Two men, pretending to work for social services, taking custody of some downtrodden woman’s boys and vanishing into thin air? Oswald was willing to bet the (mentally ill, as the article pointed out) mother had murdered her sons, and that the bodies would soon be found.

Overall, there was nothing interesting to be found in the paper, and he discarded it.

«You didn't have Jim Gordon killed», Zsasz commented. «You have noooo plan.»

Cobblepot rolled his eyes.

«Sincerely! Just because I don’t barrel into it, you have to believe I am not preparing my move. I’m sorry I’m not charging blindly like some befuddled ox. Maybe I should walk into the GCPD right now and start shooting people? Would that do?»

The hitman pursed his lips.

«I’m biding my time», Oswald explained. «I do not need to to murder Jim to teach him a lesson. I don’t need to touch a hair of his head. That would be wasting his tremendous potential. No. I will merely crush his spirit so thoroughly that the only thing keeping him on his feet will be the strings I pull. It will be _easy_.»

«Demonstrate, then, creep.»

«Don’t call me that. And do I have to teach you your own job? You don’t go after someone the day after you argued with them. It would be awfully incriminating.»

 

###

 

Watching Jim, lately, was like watching a mirror staring ten years into the past.

Sure, there were some major divergences between their two stories. Dix had never been a damsel in distress, and he and Harvey had sure as hell never fucked. That was one thing. And Dix had not died, that was another. Sure, the Kean lady was technically _alive_ , but she was a full blown case of «Satan take the wheel» if Harvey had ever seen one. He could sympathize on the whole «ex going nuts» thing, really, as he had lived through it, but it didn’t quite compare. Maria could be labeled histrionic and possibly bipolar and all, but underneath the rage fits and the homicidal episodes, you could still find _her_. Barbara Kean would have been better off dead as, for all intents and purposes, Barbara Kean did not exist anymore. What was left was a conniving, vengeful lunatic, who played Jim like a fiddle. She was so, so good at playing the doe-eyed, innocent little victim, all the while fucking with his mind.

«She said… She’s being so nice. But most of the time she is just… Blank. And when she’s not, she’s depressed», the blond had explained. «She said things like ‘how could I let you walk away, you’re the only one who really knew me at all’ and ‘all I can do now is watch you go’, ‘look at me now, there’s just an empty space’…»

Harvey had stared at him at that.

«Hate to break it to you, but she was quoting Phil Collins.»

He had seen his partner’s face fall apart, which was a daily occurrence since the girl had been admitted to Arkham.

«She’s toying with you. You _know_ she’s toying with you. You need to tune it all out, for Christ’s sake», the older man had said.

He did not tell Jim to stop going to the nuthouse, because he knew all about fucking up and having someone else pay the price. The blond would go _every_ day, and then the exhaustion would catch up with him, and he would never show his face in Arkham again. Would he send gifts and necessities, maybe magazines? Sure. Would he call the doctors once in a blue moon to check on Kean? Of course he would. But shame always beat duty. The day would come where he could not bear to show his face to Barbara, and could not stand to see hers either.

In the meantime, he was damn depressing.

The boy had caught a few breaks, though. He was not the kind of guy who’d drink himself numb. Also, he had Leslie. She was a bit nicer than, say, Maria Mercedes Mooney (not that it was a hard goal to achieve). She’d do him good. He wasn’t going through all of that shit alone. He’d be fine. Harvey tried to help his friend along the way, but you had to balance «talking sense into him» with «not bruising his tender, battered feelings». A vulnerable Jim was a weird thing to have to handle. Thankfully, Soldier Boy didn’t like to let his weaknesses show, and attempted to work the guilt away.

«I think we have an ID for our Jane Doe», he announced after his ninth phone call of the day. «Fresh missing person report. Delores Stephenson. Red haired college student, wealthy family, was living on her own in Burnside.»

Harvey looked up from his crosswords and removed his glasses.

«What makes you think it’s the same girl?»

«Matching birthmarks, same blood type as our vic’.»

«And they report it now?»

«Here is where it gets strange. She was supposedly on a trip. She left on a whim, bought a train ticket to Florida and emailed her family that she was taking a break from work. She sent _postcards_. Her father grew worried when he stopped getting them, so he called the motel she was supposedly staying at… They’d never seen her. As for her job, she quit by email ten minutes after buying her train ticket online, which she did from her apartment. MPU did some digging already. The IP address for the online transaction matches her home’s. As for the postcards, they are _of_ Miami, but were sent from Gotham.»

«So someone snatched her and covered it all up? Had _her_ cover up her own abduction?»

«That’s the idea. If she booked that trip herself, she was grabbed before she got to the station, because she never collected the tickets. Or maybe she was taken from her flat and our perp covered his tracks at the same time.»

And he got her to write postcards to her family, when she knew it would prevent her from being found. Well, an explosive necklace was a pretty good motivator.

Harvey groaned.

«Let that guy not be a repeat offender. I’ve had it with serial killers.»

Jim stared at his desk for a moment, lips pursed, then shook his head.

«MPU sent pictures and hair samples to Lee so she can confirm the ID. We should go and check that apartment. It was searched already, but maybe it can tell us something.»

As it turned out, there was little to see in that apartment. Family pictures. Fancy fluorescent fake flowers. Fairy-themed lamps. A month’s worth of dust. A wardrobe filled with winter clothes only. No socks, no panties, no bras. All of that had possibly been packed away for that trip Delores had never taken. Harvey peeked at some pictures of the girl, and he had to admit she was probably their Jane Doe. The hair color was a definite match, as well as its fuzzy, curly type. The body type was about the same, bloating aside. She’d been cute, too, and nearly a kid still.

Jim examined the place, mostly silent. He peeked at this and that, as if some plastic cactus could give him a better sense of what had happened. It was a waste of time. There had been no fighting in the flat, no breaking and entering. There was nothing to find. All he was managing to do was make himself see the girl as a person, which was gonna make him pissed and driven and insufferable. Harvey walked out and waited in the street, lighting a cigarette.

His phone rang.

«Captain?» he answered.

«You need to come back to the precinct _right now_ », Sarah announced. «Whatever you and Jim are doing, drop it. I want the two of you back this _instant_ , am I clear?»

The detective was not unused to be called to the precinct, and was fairly adept at figuring out when he could take his bloody sweet time arriving. Now was not one of those times. Essen’s voice was sharp and adamant.

«’Somethin’ happen?»

«Yes. Just get Jim and come back.»

 

###

 

Sabrina woke up at four in the afternoon, to a persistent banging noise. She had planned to sleep the day away, as her daily date was only at seven. Gardenia Lane was usually silent as a tomb, so the noise confused her more than it grated her nerves. She stumbled out of bed, put some pants on, and walked out of her house. The noise came from Sophie and Nate’s garden. For the first time, the house’s windows were open, and there was light inside. As for the noise, someone was banging something on something metallic. And giggling in a child’s voice. Sabrina froze, then raced to the garden, circling the hedge.

A toddler was sitting on the artificial lawn, smashing a wooden spoon against a cooking pan.

She thought she was dreaming. A child didn’t belong on the Street. David had told her about Nate’s existence. She knew Sophie from the restaurant, as the jittery, closemouthed waitress that cooked their food and served them. But a child was not supposed to be there. Certainly not a three years old little boy with fluffy blond hair and an upturned nose. He noticed her and looked at her, eyes going wide with surprise.

He wore one of the necklaces. It was just the same as Sabrina’s: black metal wrapped in a layer of cloth so it would not chafe the skin, with a black plastic box for the microphone and speaker.

She stared at him. Her heart was thumping in her ears, and she felt light-headed. She was breathing too quickly.

Sophie ran out of her home.

«I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I completely forgot you had moved in. The noise must have been driving you insane», she said, grabbing the little boy by the waist and lifting him up. «Shawn is not used to having people around. He runs totally amok.»

Sabrina didn’t quite manage to answer. Sophie gave her a brilliant smile, totally different from her usual withdrawn expression. She was a beautiful woman, when she smiled. She had lustrous brown hair that fell in thick curls on her shoulders, almond-shaped green eyes, and a lovely heart shaped face. Then again, if she was kept captive to portray the female protagonist of some twisted romantic plot, she had to be beautiful. David was dashing. Sabrina herself was gorgeous, and she knew it.

«Say hello, Shawn!» Sophie prompted.

«Hellooo!» said the toddler.

Sabrina was barely keeping herself upright.

«Hello, Shawn», she replied in a strangled voice. «Nice to meet you. How old are you?»

«Tu-ree!»

«You’re a biiig boy», Sabrina commented automatically, flatly.

She hoped, she bitterly hoped that the boy had been abducted with his mother. If he had not been, then he had been born in their prison, and Sabrina could not process that thought.

_It could happen to you. It will happen to you._

She thought of David pushing into her as she swallowed her sobs and felt even more ill.

_It could happen to you. No condoms, no pills._

She had scrubbed herself raw afterwards.

«Do you want to come in?» Sophie asked.

She was as good as an actress as David, that woman. Now that the focus was on her, her mask was perfect. She had not bothered to look that sunny and nice in her role as a waitress. The younger woman blinked, trying to focus.

«I just made fresh coffee», her fellow captive added, her tone getting more urgent.

Sabrina forced herself to smile and nod, then followed her «neighbor» into the house.

 

###

 

Fish couldn’t move, nor could she open her eyes. It was not that she was restrained, nor paralyzed, but she felt like she had slept a thousand years. Her limbs did not quite react to her will. She was in pain - a detail to be ignored - and her thoughts were muddled and slow - a severe problem she had to shake herself out of. _Move_. She tried, but her muscles barely twitched. So she berated herself, and taunted herself, and sat up in one quick, sharp move. Her entire body screamed in pain, as if it had been torn to pieces, and she passed out.

 

###

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

All of his ranting about his job notwithstanding, Harvey felt naked without his piece and badge, so he went home to grab his spare gun.

Usually, on a day like this, he’d have walked down to the seedy little bar at the corner of the street, tuned out the juke-box and the banter of the pool players, and silently made his way to «black out drunk» territory. Sleep was a sparse commodity in their line of work - once you lost the self-righteousness, anyway - so he aimed for unconsciousness. His «usual» had started shifting a few months before, after he’d finally managed to drag Scottie to some fancy Italian place. He hadn’t counted, but he was pretty sure he slept in her bed more often than in his own, by now.

Scottie was best described as perfection wrapped in fun, with the extra advantage of copper-red hair, which would have blindsided any man, and Harvey more than most.

It was pretty much impossible to feel miserable around her (unless she was actively being drowned by some psycho, and that didn’t happen every day). You just slipped into automatic «don’t fuck this up» mode, and found yourself grinning, and joking, and teasing, and more generally being less of an ass. A few week ins, you realized you hadn’t acted this pleasant since 92, and felt this pleasant since… Possibly since that time you got a ticket to see the Stones on tour, back in 81.

So he called her.

«Hey, I was about to head out for pizza. Feel like joining me?»

They met at her place and - even after that shitstorm of a day - he felt himself grin. They fell into easy banter. She told him about her day - an afternoon running around with friends to plan a bachelorette party that had involved rating male stripper websites and their use of Comic Sans (whatever that was) - and about her plans for her next support group meeting (as she had not let Crane scare her off the whole prospect). She didn’t talk much about her job as a career counselor, and that was for the best. Being suspended until further notice, Harvey was sorely in need of career advise, and did not _want_ any.

«So how was _your_ day?» she asked when he ran out of questions and jokes.

«Seen worse», he replied.

He had to tell her. It would be all over the news, like that police brutality case a few months back. Except, this time, he would not get out of it on account of being a cop. Brady had been real protective of his men and didn’t like trouble, so drama would go away quietly and swiftly. Loeb, however, had an ax to grind with Jim and him, so they were going to be roasted alive.

«Good news is I’m available for movies and dates and everything you feel like doing, for the foreseeable future. Less good news is I’ll be broke as hell all the while. Hope you don’t mind.»

Scottie stared at him, stunned.

«What happened?»

«I arrested a guy a few weeks ago. Husband to a stabbing victim, the wife was looking into divorce, there were reports of domestic violence. So I brought him in, and he cracked and confessed to the murder.»

«Yes?»

Harvey closed his eyes, exhausted. Essen had chewed him out for hours, along with Jim.

«I told you, Harvey! I told you not to arrest the guy if you didn’t have probable cause!»

«I did! We did! You saw the case files», he had snapped back. «Several interventions for domestic disturbances, the wife was lawyering up, and the man _confessed_ , for fuck’s sake!»

« _Under duress!_ And trust me, when he sues the department, the DA is going to have a field day, between _your_ history and the fact that _neither of you_ bothered to do your jobs.»

What had stung, really stung, was how betrayed Sarah had sounded. Harvey was used to being a disappointment - he had never been that good at his job - but this should have been an easy case. He had not even tried to dig, when a ten minutes phone call could have prevented the entire mess.

«A vigilante nailed the actual perp», he explained, looking away. «Killed him, left the murder weapon - the stabbing case’s, I mean - next to him, along with all the evidence. Then he sent reporters to the crime scene. Turns out our victim was having an affair and broke it off, her lover didn’t take it well.»

Scottie gaped, and mouthed the beginning of a comforting sentence, but stopped herself. What could she have said? She was smart. She could put two and two together. If he had gotten the victim’s phone records - as the vigilante had - he would have found frequent calls to a male coworker. If he had obtained her message history - as the vigilante had - he would have found pleading messages that slowly turned to threats. Harvey had trusted his gut, as usual, and it was never a good idea. For years, it had not mattered, or he had lucked out. Then he’d been paired up with Jim, and Jim was not one to neglect evidence, nor to overlook the simplest leads. Not usually.

«The husband was released, and his lawyer is encouraging him to sue. Now, we did nothing more than the regular good cop, bad cop routine, Jim and I, but the asshole is claiming he was beaten into confessing. It might just fly. I’ve been suspended for roughing up suspects before.»

She sighed.

«His lying might be what will get you out. He has no proof, does he?»

«The footage of the interrogation went ‘missing’», Harvey said. «Which is not good news for us, it looks like we have something to hide.»

He was willing to bet the tape had vanished about five minutes after Loeb had learned about the new murder. It was too good an occasion to take Jim’s badge away. The commissioner would bury them.

«So what’s your situation, exactly?»

«Suspended with no pay until further notice. Jim too. Probably getting fired down the line. Me, it’s no skin off my back», he lied. «Security guard fits me better anyway, I’m getting old, all that running around and chasing criminals is not helping my knees. Jim… He’ll bounce back.»

That was an even bigger lie.

Jim had not argued with Sarah. He had apologized, flat out. «It was a grievous error in judgment on my part. I will take whatever punishment is coming my way», he had said. And, when Essen had let them go, the blond had left without a word, avoiding Harvey’s eyes. It was his right. Everything he had worked for was coming crashing down. There would be no cleansing of the GCPD if Gordon could not stay on the force. And all had gone to shit just because Harvey was a lazy, careless bastard.

Scottie stared at the table’s candle, lost in thought.

You knew things were bad when a professional counselor with a bachelor in psychology could not come up with a motivating comment.

«Is there anything I can do to help?» she asked after a while, having finished her analysis and arrived at the same «you’re doomed» conclusion as the detective had.

«Well, if you’re not eating that mascarpone…»

 

###

 

Gillian Loeb was, from Oswald point of view, a conniving and treacherous opportunist who had made his way to the top by dragging everyone else down. He greatly appreciated all of those traits, and would have applauded his accomplishments, had the man not constantly compromised his plans. They had a pleasant business relationship, mostly based on the excellent care Oswald provided to young Miriam, but Gillian was not supervised 24/7, and would at times inadvertently trample Oswald’s careful work. His feud with Jim Gordon also had to stop.

Against his best judgment, Oswald still felt oddly protective of the blond firebrand. He was not done with him.

The crime lord was sitting in his expensive black leather sofa - a comfortable and elegant piece of furniture he had bought to replace Carmine’s outdated and washed out decoration - and watched the commissioner bleat through his press conference on the wide flat screen TV freshly attached to the living room’s wall.

«This gross miscarriage of justice will not go unpunished», Gillian was saying. «The two detectives involved in this case failed mister Parson. They failed the GCPD. They failed us all, by further victimizing an innocent man who had just suffered the worst of personal tragedies. Full light will be made on the circumstances that allowed their blatant disregard for justice to go unnoticed. They will be disciplined, as will be any superior who enabled this horrendous travesty. They…»

Oswald rolled his eyes and stabbed the apple he was peeling.

«What is father talking about?» Miriam asked from her own seat.

She had nearly free roam of the mansion. A bodyguard followed her around, more to protect people from her than the other way around, but she was not much of a bother. As long as you didn’t argue with her and provided her with fresh canaries every day, she was quiet as a mouse.

Oswald cut his fruit into quarters and put them on a plate on the coffee table.

«A misunderstanding, Miriam. I’m afraid an evil man told some lies to your father, and he is now repeating them. I will make sure he is quickly informed of the situation, then everything will be fine.»

«My father won’t have any problems at all, will he?» the young woman asked, panicking.

«Absolutely not, you have my words. Now, why don’t you go play checkers with Gabe?»

She routinely won. Cobblepot was near certain that his man didn’t let her.

«Why can’t my father visit? You know it is _our_ game!»

«As you can see, he is very busy nowadays», the mob boss said, pointing at the television. «Work, and work, and more work, as I already told you.»

«He used to make time for me!»

Her temper was flaring, which was not a good thing. Her guard took a step forwards. Oswald stared at her, pointedly.

«You know full well your father gives you all the free time he has. Would he appreciate a tantrum where you accuse him of not caring for you? Wouldn’t he be hurt?»

The blonde hesitated and lowered her eyes. Murderous urges aside, she was an eight years old at mind, and a naive one at that. She was very easy to trick.

«I’m sorry. I will write him a letter telling him to take good care of himself and that I will be patient. Will you send it for me?»

«Without delay. And, since you’ve been so nice, ask Martin to retrieve the Zara catalog. I believe you deserve a fancy new dress and some jewelry. Don’t you?»

Miriam’s eyes lit up, and she ran to him to give him a crushing hug.

«You are so nice, Oswald!» she said.

He tensed, awkwardly detached himself, and adjusted his necktie with nervous hands.

«I’m glad you think so. Now, off you go. Your letter won’t write itself.»

The woman-child ran off, happily skipping out of the room. Martin followed her. Oswald looked down at his apple. The quarters had started going brown, so he huffed and left them there, to be thrown away by the maid. He walked into his office and called a friend.

 

###

 

Two years. Sophie had lived on Gardenia Lane for two years. She had «moved in» and met Nate, a young widower with a son who sorely needed a mother, and they had «fallen in love».

Two _years_.

Had people outside tried to find her, and failed, or had no one cared about the woman at all? Sabrina did not know what to hope for. She would have preferred for Sophie to be a nobody, someone nobody had missed. It would have meant no one had searched for her in vain. It would have meant the Lane was maybe not buried too deep too be found, that someone could follow leads right to the place. Sabrina knew her family was looking for her. Matthew, her fiancé, would have noticed she was gone on the day of her abduction. If he had not - and why wouldn’t he have? - her mother called every other day.

She had to believe she would be found, or she would go crazy.

_Two years._

She had left Sophie’s house just in time for her date with David, after a long and artificial chat over tea. The older woman had been the perfect housewife, serving cookies on elegant white porcelain plates painted with tiny roses. She’d poured tea from a matching teapot, that could have been stolen from a Disney movie. They had used actual silverware. Sophie never looked at the cameras, and was an expert at turning her head so said cameras could get the best angle.

Shawn seemed to know he had to play where he could be filmed. If he had to pass behind furniture or to move to another room, he hurried.

«I met Sophie», Sabrina had told David after the kiss and the embrace their jailer required. «Did you know she moved in two years ago?»

Her companion had nodded, carefully taking her hand and leading her towards the restaurant. He was extremely cautious about touching her, ever since their first time. Sabrina saw the guilt and the horror. She knew he felt bad. It did not make her feel better. They still had sex after every date, because they did not have a choice and the man was intent on keeping them alive whether she wanted him to or not. And she didn’t blame him. She understood. She was grateful. But she was ill to the pit of her stomach and she could barely keep her sobs in in the bedroom.

«I did. She brought me a welcome basket when I moved in, gave me some tips about the place, and Mrs. Valentine, and so on.»

«Mrs. Valentine?»

«Our upstairs neighbor», he had said, looking up to the blue tinted floodlights that were supposed to replace the moon.

«Mrs. Valentine», Sabrina had repeated.

They were held by a woman. It made sense. Sabrina had nearly smacked herself for not having considered it. As if the stupid romantic scenario they were supposed to enact left any doubt.

David had all but dragged her to the restaurant, a nervous smile on his face.

«Let’s go. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.»

Three hours later, they went back to her place and raped each other under threat of death again, then the young woman went to shower and cry. She cried with a smile, of course, and the necklace did not beep for long. When she returned to her bedroom, David was waiting for her. He had put his pants back on, as well as his shirt, though the shirt was crumpled and unbuttoned. He was sitting on the corner of the bed, clearly worried.

«Are you alright?» he asked, and a wave of terror ran through Sabrina.

He was not acting. It was going to get him killed. Her throat closed up, her eyes went wet, and she stood there frozen, unable to answer. He stood up, quietly, and turned the lights off. She blinked, letting the tears run on her face. He joined her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her shaking shoulders and kissing her forehead. A high pitched sound escaped her, a keening noise that felt like it came from someone else, from a crying child. She had not made a sound like that in a decade. David held her closer, rocking back and forth, a hand stroking her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life, burying her face against his shoulder.

Her collar was not beeping anymore. Maybe the monsters slept.

She raised her head and pressed her lips to David’s.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this dark enough, people, or do I rack my brain for more doom and gloom? :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this? Except you, Poussinette, I know you are.

«It’s been a while since you last visited», Barbara said with a smile. «I was worried.»

«I’ve been busy», Jim replied, crumpled on his chair.

He had taken the habit of sitting right in front of her, pulling his chair next to hers instead of staying on the other side of the table, as he was supposed to do. It was like he wanted to be close, when he could not bear to touch her. Every time their had accidentally brushed against each other, he had jumped away in revulsion.

«Fourteen days», she informed him, in a kind voice. «I hope nothing is wrong.»

He stared at the floor, in silence, for a long while.

He was miserable. Of course he was. Arresting an innocent man for murder would do that to him. He _lived_ to do the right thing. He rushed into it and did not care what and who he trampled in the process, but he defined himself as a good man. Faced with the evidence that he was not one, he couldn’t define himself at all. And he couldn’t even find refuge in his work, since it had been taken for him… And since he could not do it right, anyway.

«Can you stop that?» he asked.

«I’m sorry?»

«We both know the whole concerned, friendly thing is an act, don’t we? Why don’t you show your true self for once?»

«I’m me. Should I cackle like a lunatic, maybe? Is that what you expect?»

«I don’t know, maybe make some tear-wrenching speech taken straight from Phil Collins? How does that sound?»

«Oh! You noticed?»

«Of course I fucking noticed», he snapped back, whispering the swear word. «Do you think I’m an idiot?»

«I’m sorry. I didn’t think what I told you mattered at all - it never did - so I just went with whatever I heard on the radio that day.»

His eyes snapped back to hers. He just stared at her, livid with rage. She gave him her prettiest smile.

Minutes went by.

«I’m sorry if you ever believed that», he hissed. «But that’s a vicious _lie_.»

Barbara looked at him and said nothing, watching his anger grow. He bit the inside of his cheek, and clenched his jaw.

«Why did you attack Leslie?»

«S-she, s-she k-ept a-ask-asking a-bout J-Jason Lennon», the woman replied in a distressed voice, letting her eyes fill with tears. «I-I don’t k-know what c-came over me, it j-just, j-just… It’s like everything went black and then I didn’t know what I was-»

«STOP IT!»

She stopped and grinned.

«I attacked her because I _could_ », she added moments later, when Jim tried to say something himself. «Because her hypocritical so-called compassion was getting on my nerves. Because I grew tired of you both lying to my face.»

Her ex-fiancé moved away in his chair, leaning back as far as he could. He studied her face in horror and said nothing.

«Oh wait!», she exclaimed. «Actually, it was because she’s your new girlfriend and I’m soooo jealous and heartbroken and how could you ever replace me when I told you I would come back and then when I _did_ I found you kissing in that locker room and it just destroyed me and-» - She gasped for air. - «I just broke into tiny little pieces and I couldn’t pick myself up so I kept putting a feet in front of the other and pretending I would be fine until Jason found me and… Phew. I’m sorry, where did that sentence start again?»

Jim looked so lost, trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, that she burst out laughing.

«Now that I think of it», she said, «that’s not even true. I did it because God told me she was a heathen and I had to punish her for her sins.»

«That his not _funny_ », the cop snapped.

«I beg to differ. This is hilarious.»

«Whatever you have against me, even if I hurt you, you have no _right_ to take it out on Leslie. This is between _you_ and _I_ , are we clear?»

Barbara looked down at the yellowish tiled floor, then turned to the yellowish tiled wall, then looked up to the slightly less yellowish ceiling. She opened and closed her mouth as if searching for the right words.

«You-» she started.

Jim frowned and waited.

«Y-you had me several years ago», she murmured, looking back to him. «When I was… Quite naive? Well, you said that we made such a _pretty_ pair. And t-that you would never leave» - She took a deep breath. - «But you gave away the things you loved and-»

«WILL YOU STOP IT WITH THE DAMN SONG LYRICS?» he screamed, jumping to his feet, as he recognized Carly Simon’s «You’re so vain».

Barbara burst out laughing and bit her lip to stop herself, then wrapped her hands around his clenched fist.

«Sit down. Aren’t you getting exactly what you came for?» she asked.

He snatched his hand away. She waited, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to start shouting. He decided against it and sat back down in his chair.

«And what», he murmured, «did I come for?»

She took his hand again, and didn’t let go when he jumped away in disgust. He forced himself to stay still and did not try to free himself.

«You never asked for my reasons before, have you? You don’t need them. You don’t dwell on the past, it’s not your style. You’re someone who’d rather cut the rot away and build anew. Which is why the question was never relevant, as long as you saw ways to fix me. But that’s not what _this_ visit is about, is it?»

He squirmed, uncomfortable, but she held on.

«I think things are not going too well for you», she said softly. She might have enjoyed to see him squirm, but she still cared about him, and she _knew_ him. «You feel miserable, and angry, and you have to let it all out _somehow_. Except it’s _yourself_ you’re angry with, and you can’t be at war with yourself, so you came to fight with your mentally ill ex-girlfriend instead. So you could have someone _evil_ to lash out at.»

His hand flew out of hers and he raised it to strike.

He didn’t. He stopped himself.

But he had it in him, somewhere. And now he knew it.

 

###

 

Bullock had been asking around for days. Selina had followed him around for just as long, though she had not let the asshole see her. Being the less observant cop in the world (as confirmed by every newspaper in town), he had not spotted her. She had learned _all_ she didn’t want to know about Harvey Bullock, however, from his favorite brand of cigarettes (Lucky Strikes) to the name of his surprisingly pretty girlfriend (Scottie), and the color of his boxers (which she had promptly done her best to forget, did the guy have to piss in random alleys?). The guy didn’t seem to have anything to do, what with being suspended, so she had ample opportunity to spy on him.

Two weeks before, he’d been asking about suspicious vehicles. Then his questioning had moved on to gray vans only. He wasn’t quite mentioning Fish, but the friends he had among the working girls understood what he was looking for and helped as they could. Not that they had anything interesting to said. The trail had gone cold. A gray van, that was all they could tell. It had been seen in the red lights district, first driving along the river, then circling the streets of the area. Which meant Fish Mooney had been captured and the kidnapping couldn’t be nailed on the usual culprits, like King of the Asses Cobblepot. Bullock didn’t have any clue of who the abductor could have been. Selina didn’t either, until Ivy commented on some article in the Gazette, with her usual niceness and compassion.

«Think they’ll even find the bodies?» she had asked over a bowl of cereals, using the newspaper as place mat.

«What bodies?» Cat had asked, confused.

They’d been squatting in some old man’s apartment while the man was in the hospital, and the young thief had watched the news about every day. Save for Fish’s, no bodies had gone missing that she knew of. On the contrary, quite a lot had been found.

«The Winston boys», Ivy had explained. «The crackhead’s kids.»

The older girl had stared at her friend, a faint wave of suspicion coming over her.

«I guess if the mom didn’t kill them, she probably sold them to a pimp or something», the redhead had added with a shrug. «Dope doesn’t come cheap.»

Selina had stared some more.

«I have to go», she had shouted after a few seconds, grabbing the newspaper and running off.

It had taken her twenty minutes to get to the red lights district, and twice that to find Bullock. When she _finally_ spotted him, she dropped down right in front of him from the closest fire escape.

«There’s something you don’t know», she announced. «And I need you to look into it.»

«I’m starting to wonder if you _want_ me to blow your brains up. Do you _have_ to sneak up on people like that?»

« _Listen to me!_ »

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

«What do you want now?»

«Kids are going missing», she explained.

«Yeah?»

« _Kids_ are going _missing_ », she repeated. «How does that not catch your attention? Don’t you remember your own damn case?»

She saw him rack his brain to figure out what she was talking about. Then he stared at her.

«I think someone would have noticed if brats had started to vanish by the busload _again_.»

She waved the Gazette under his nose.

«Not by the busload. But they’re quietly walked out of their homes by fake social workers.»

« _Two_ kids. And sorry to break it to you, but the meth head mom probably drowned them and forgot about it. Story’s totally _crazy._ »

«Will you stop being an ass for five seconds and _shut the hell up_? I’m telling you I know something you don’t.»

«Then _spit it out already!_ »

Cat went silent and looked around, as there were a few people in sight and you never knew who was eavesdropping. She grabbed him by the sleeve and guided him to a quieter part of the street.

«When she left town a few months ago, after the thing with Don Falcone, when she had to run, she left by boat. And there was a pirate attack, and she was captured», she explained.

«Was she.»

«Yeah, she was. Human trafficking ring thing. Not the sex kind. The organs kind.»

The cop raised a eyebrow and looked at her with his best «and you believed that?» expression.

«And she was taken to an _island_ », Selina continued, voice raising. «And she was locked up in a basement with dozen of people who were kept alive so they could be harvested. _And if you don_ _’t believe me,_ we can go find some of the people who got out with her, I’m sure they’re still in Gotham. You’ve seen her team, right? Plenty of cripples?»

«An island», he repeated. «With some kind of prison.»

«Yeah, some kind of prison but not just that. The place was some kind of _hospital_ where very rich people would go to get patched up, and Fish tricked the psycho doctor who ran the place so she could escape with the other prisoners.»

Bullock wasn’t mocking her anymore, which did not mean he believed her, but was a good sign.

«She escaped but she didn’t have the time to make sure that doctor was dead», Selina continued. «I know all that because she told me that once she would have control of Gotham, she was going to go back and finish the job.»

Now, she had the detective’s full attention.

«And that doctor? The one who cut up people? His name was Dollmaker.»

 

###

 

It was bound to happen.

«Inside», Oswald said.

He should have seen it coming.

«Inside», he repeated when Victor failed to move, and did not even appear to notice his order. «Now!»

Zsasz jumped, torn from is contemplation of young Miriam Loeb. The young woman had been sitting in the garden, holding a decidedly dead canary (Martin would have to be told to replace it) which she was petting. With a knife. As she tried to decide how to to best slice his flesh away so she could get to the bones. Oswald had seen her do it. She was quite adept. Which was apparently Victor’s opinion, for the freak had appeared transfixed.

Cobblepot stared him down. He felt oddly protective of Miriam. At first, he had found her uncanny, but she had been around long enough for her to feel familiar and, truly, she was just a lost child. A very young and innocent child, despite her appearance and compulsions. Which meant she had to be protected from predators.

The criminal pointed at the door, waiting for the hitman to go back inside. He followed him in and slammed the door.

«This won’t do», he warned.

The creep smiled hesitantly, then all but grinned, laughing in silence. Oswald was not about to be impressed.

«You are to stay away from Miss Loeb», he announced. «She’s a vulnerable, innocent young creature and you are not to get any ideas. She’s under my protection and she will remain unharmed _and_ unseduced. Should you attempt to approach her, I will carve your eyes OUT with your OWN BLOODY _INSTRUMENTS. ARE WE CLEAR?_ »

Zsasz actually took a step back.

 

###


	10. Chapter 10

«An island. We’re supposed to find an island. Somewhere in the ocean. With, as identifying features, ‘has an hospital and an underground prison’.»

«Drop the pessimistic wise-ass gig, you don’t do it nearly as well as me», Harvey retorted. «And yeah, with an hospital and an underground prison. It’s not like we have _nothing_. Rich people getting new parts? Miraculous recoveries? There has to be something to find.»

Jim raised an eyebrow and tried not to feel like a photocopy of himself.

His partner had not shown his face in two weeks. Gordon had not tried to contact him either, so he had no right to complain, but he would have lied if he had said he had taken his friend’s disappearance well. Then again, that was Harv’. When facing trouble, he’d retreat, and would only be lured by life or death situations.

Jim supposed organ trafficking rings _were_ a life or death situation, though Bullock usually needed the danger to hit closer to home to actually involve himself.

They had met two streets away from the man’s place, in the parking lot of a fast food joint, after a cryptic phone call.

«So are you going to tell me how you stumbled upon that story and why Selina Kyle is spying on us from the roof of the launderette?»

Harvey flinched and looked up, causing the girl to jump out of sight.

«OH COME ON!», he screamed. «WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE, YOU MIGHT AS WELL COME DOWN!»

He waited. Jim lifted his second eyebrow and waited too. It took nearly a minute, but the teenager scaled down the wall and joined them, huffing.

«Told you I didn’t want to work with _him_ », she whispered to Bullock.

«Oooh, poor baby. What about you suck it up and stop whining, you brat? You want help, you take the help you get.»

«I see you’ve made new friends», the blond said, nearly chuckling.

«Well, maybe he needed _good_ ones», Selina snapped back, causing both the cops to gape.

«What the hell was _that_?» Harvey exclaimed.

The little thief lifted her chin, crossed her arms, and looked resolutely away from Jim. At least she was neither pointing a gun at his face, nor delivering to some crime lord. He supposed he had to count his blessings.

«Come on, Selina», the younger cop asked. «What did I ever do to you?»

«Do I need to make a list? Cause I don’t have all day.»

Harvey groaned.

«Ooookay, little miss Sunshine, drop this right now. I know you’re at a sensitive age and you’re all impressionable and shit, but I’m gonna tell you as it is, Fish was no role model, and I haven’t commented on you copying her godawful wardrobe, nor on the whole armed criminal thing-»

«You haven’t stopped whining about it.»

« _Nor on the whole armed criminal thing_ , but I’ll be blunt, if you copy the ‘utter bitch’ act, someone will bash your skull in before the end of the day, and that someone will be me. Understood?»

She tried to stare him down to call his bluff, but the older man just stared right back, until she huffed and looked away. Jim was not altogether sure that he _was_ bluffing. The blond chuckled. For a second, he felt alive again, like there was a ground under his feet and air to breathe. Even if it was «only» a suspension… Not being a cop - not feeling like he had the right to be one, either - had left him blank. He was not sure of who he was without the badge, but he was certain he did not like that person much.

He could still see the way Barbara’s face had lit up when he had raised his fist hit her, as if she had always known what lurked under his skin. He had felt like bashing that grin off her face, which was exactly what she had aimed for, and she had laughed as he stalked out of the room and out of Arkham, to puke his guts out right outside.

«You wanted to know where the intel came from?» Harvey asked, turning to his partner. «Maria Mercedes ‘Fish’ Mooney, who, on virtue on being herself, was unable to have one normal day in her life. The months she was out of Gotham, she spent in that underground prison, or so she told her ‘family’.»

«There’s no ‘or so she told’, she _did_ , that’s how she got her weird eye. She pulled her own eye out when they threatened her to sell both to some patient…»

«Not a normal day in her life», Bullock mouthed.

«And the Dollmaker gave her the blue one instead.»

Jim froze.

«Dollmaker.»

«Yeah, Dollmaker. You two idiots caught the child snatchers, but you never went after their boss, right? Well, he kept snatching people, and I think he’s doing it now.»

«Dollmaker.»

«Not that quick on the uptake, are you?»

«Will you please drop the aggressiveness and just explain what you know?»

«There was a strange kidnapping. Two boys, snatched by fake CPS workers? Like when that crazy lady and her friend came to grab kids from the streets?»

«The Winston children? Wouldn’t that be too public an abduction? And the snatcher’s M.O. was to grab as many victim as possible. This wouldn’t fit…»

«Except it does», Harvey cut in. «I looked into it. I figured, since they took so many risks, the kids had to be special in some way. So I called in a few favors, got the boys’ medical records. O negative, both of them. Universal donors.»

«Shit», Jim said. « _Shit_. We need to tell Sarah _right now_. The whole city should be looking after those boys.»

«One step ahead of you. I called her thirty minutes ago, told her to dig into the recent missing person’s cases. And to be on the lookout for rich brats making miraculous recoveries», he added, which felt like a blow to the gut.

If organ traffickers had taken so many risks to get those specific kids, there was very likely a buyer lined up, _back when they had been taken_.

«O-type rich brats», the blond said. «Universal donors, but they can only receive transfusions from their own blood type. The same goes for transplants, I’m pretty sure.»

He sighed. The two brothers had probably been killed in the hours following their disappearance. They would have been very valuable, however. It was not out of the realm of possibilities for them to be kept alive so their organs could be harvested at separate times. Maybe they were extremely lucky and had only been relieved of the one kidney.

Another thought came to his mind.

«Why did you come to me with this?» he asked. «If you already got Essen to reopen the case?»

His phone rang. He cut the call short.

Bullock shrugged, uneasy, and exchanged a quick look with Selina.

«I need to find the Dollmaker», he mumbled. « _Preferably_ before anyone else does. Sarah can be trusted, but she’ll have to put a lot of people on this and I don’t know who they report to. I-»

Jim’s phone rang again. He hung up again.

Selina and the detective’s unexpected alliance suddenly made a lot of sense.

«You’re looking for Fish Mooney», the blond said. «You think Dollmaker has her.»

They looked at each other again. Selina shrugged. Harvey sighed, annoyed, and looked resolutely to the side.

«Yeah. I mean, I know she got out alive and was captured by _someone_ », he explained.

«Oh for God’s sake», Jim snapped.

His phone rang again. This time, he picked up, nearly shouting his greeting. There was a pause on the other side, then the last person the cop wanted to hear from replied.

«Jim, my friend! I’d like to invite you for tea.»

 

###

 

«You got me to play bodyguard to Carmine Falcone, in case you do not remember. You do not get to sulk about my trying to save my own crime lord’s life.»

«I’m not _sulking_ », Jim replied as his friend parked his car in front of Cobblepot’s recently «acquired» mansion. «I’m just surprised about how optimistic you are, seeing how you kept telling me that Barbara was probably already dead, when the Ogre kidnapped her. »

Harvey got out of the car and leaned down to look at Jim, who was still sitting in the passenger seat.

«First thing first, those two ladies? Not really cut from the same cloth. And about Barbara? I _was_ being optimistic», he finished, closing the car door.

The blond followed him out, sighing.

«I went to see her, you know?»

«Still?»

«Yeah. I think I might just stop.»

«Probably the best decision you could make», Harvey replied, staring at the mansion’s doors. «Heh. I’d feel much better with a shotgun.»

Jim looked at the house, taking a deep breath. Cobblepot had let him know that his presence was mandatory, that he had some big news, and that he would be expecting him at five, _no excuses._ There had been something in his tone that made it clear that hanging up on him _again_ was not going to go over well. The detective had done just that at least five times that month, and there had been no backlash. It only now occurred to Jim that it was _not_ a good sign. He should have been concerned about that surprising forgivingness. In any case, tea was (probably) not going to kill him, and the news Cobblepot liked to share tended to be of the important variety.

Harvey had refused to let him go alone. «That scheming little jackass can’t be trusted», he had said, which was the understatement of the century.

Jim breathed in.

The doors opened.

«James! I’m so glad you could make it», the Penguin greeted him. «I’m so glad to see you!»

He limped down the stairs, followed by two bodyguards, and grabbed Jim by the shoulders, and patting him on one. Then his face grew sour.

«Mister Bullock», he said in a dismissive tone.

«Penguin.»

Oswald’s shot daggers at him, but quickly collected himself. He turned to the younger cop.

«I’m sorry, but your _friend_ will have to surrender his weapons. I was recently shot by one of Fish Mooney’s former lovers. I do not care to repeat the experience.»

Harvey rolled his eyes and handed his gun to the bigger guard (Gabe, if Jim was not mistaken). It didn’t matter much to him, as he had a spare, and two very good knives.

«All of his weapons», Cobblepot clarified.

It was Bullock’s turn to shoot daggers, and he surrendered his second gun with a lot less good grace.

«Shall we go in?» the crime lord prompted with a cheerful smile.

They did. They walked past the Gatling gun that was now decorating the hall, and a vast collection of modern automatic weaponry, all of it clearly ready to fire, to end up in the living room. It had been redecorated. Jim did not comment. Harvey didn’t have the same survival instincts. He took a long, had look at the new furniture.

«Did someone let a blind undertaker loose in here?»

«Please take a seat», Oswald said in a clipped voice. «Fred, let the kitchen know tea and pastries are expected.»

Jim sat, carefully, on the edge of new sofa. His partner just dropped down on it and leaned back, attempting to sink into the stone-hard cushions.

«Is there any particular reason to this invitation?» the blond asked as Oswald took a seat himself.

The creep perked up and smiled, barely containing his enthusiasm.

«Why, friendship, of course!»

«I’m sorry?»

«Friendship. _Our_ friendship. It’s been a hard few months, and some things were said, and done, and I felt I had to - you know - do my part to smooth the terrain.»

Gordon blinked. A maid walked in and served them tea, to Harv’s intense disgust. She had also brought croissants, cupcakes, and macarons.

«Jim», their host said. «You threatened me with a firearm, insulted me, and arrested me. It’s fair to say our relationship is quite strained. I figured I’d take the high road and forgive you, however. Consider this a peace offering.»

«Croissants?»

Oswald clicked his tongue.

«No, silly! For the _actual_ peace offering, you’ll have to wait…» - He peeked at the grandfather’s clock. - «Four more minutes.»

«I’m sorry about the ‘threatening you with a firearm’ part. I assume you mean when I was trying to find Barbara Kean? It was not my best moment, it was a matter of life and death. That being said, I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for arresting you. You were going to murder a man in cold blood.»

«Oh _please_. We’re talking about Carmine Falcone. Do you take him for an altar boy? Because I can easily line up a collection of eastern European trollops who’d happily testify on how their passports were taken from them when they were put to work in his brothels. Among other things.»

«Hate to agree with the guy», Harvey chimed in, chewing on a macaron, «but he has a point.»

«He was the only one able to stop Gotham from falling into chaos», Jim replied. «I never for a second thought he was a good man.»

«On that first point, I beg to differ», Cobblepot snapped back, his polite facade cracking at the edges. «And might I point out you let him leave town? Which, sincerely, leads me to believe you thought his trade was friendship bracelets and girl scout cookies. I’m surprised you didn’t drag him to some cell.»

The blond nearly reached for the knife attached to his hip - just to touch it, as suddenly felt very heavy on his belt - but stopped himself.

«If I had tried to keep him in Gotham, he would be a corpse by now. Probably with your helping hand.»

Oswald shook his head, smiling, and turned the TV on.

«There’s no point trying to pick a fight, James. As I was saying, I’m trying to patch things up. It would be counterproductive to argue with you, wouldn’t it?»

Jim peeked at the screen, vaguely noting the news channel’s logo. Then he did a double-take.

A journalist was interviewing a very familiar man.

«It was a money grab. A shameless money grab», he was saying. «And I’m sorry for nearly ruining several careers with that godawful trick. The truth is I was never beaten into confessing the murder of my wife. I confessed because I- I… I had no idea if I had done it. I’m an addict, and I was not able to _remember_ what had happened that night. I couldn’t even have told you if I’d seen her. But… It was _possible_. When I use… I don’t know myself. I had hit her before. I had. She had called the cops on me because I was violent, so had our neighbors. And then she died and I could not remember a _thing_. So I thought… ‘It has to be you, it can only be you’. I didn’t even _know_ she was seeing someone else. If _I_ believed I had done it, and said I had, and signed my name on a piece of paper to swear I had… What were the cops supposed to think?»

Harvey stared at the television, stunned.

Jim leaned back in his seat, livid.

«What did you do to him?» he asked in a blank voice.

Cobblepot chuckled.

«Nothing! That’s the beauty of it!»

The cop turned to him, studying his face, knowing most of what the criminal would say next would be lies.

« _Nothing_ », Oswald repeated. «I’ve learned my lesson from that unfortunate incident with Derek Delaware. No. I had my team of lawyers figure out how much that scammer would have extorted from the GCPD if it had settled on that lawsuit, and I offered him a few thousand dollars more to do _this_ », he explained, pointing at the screen. «It was actually a quite negligible sum. Pocket change, really. As it turns out, the man had no credibility whatsoever. No matter. Now, he gets to retire in Spain, and I believe you get to keep your job. How is that for a peace offering?»

 

###


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and mostly boring chapter.   
> Don't I know how to sell my work?

«For someone with such a lucky strike, I don’t feel like Jim really appreciates being allowed to return», Essen said.

Harvey leaned against the lab’s exam table and unpacked his box of Chinese take-out. He handed the veggie noodles to Leslie and opened his garlic chicken.

Sarah was pissed. She had every right to be. Jimbo had been about as pleasant as waste shredder for most of the morning, and she had no idea why.

«He didn’t have a lucky strike», the freshly reinstated detective announced. «Cobblepot intervened. Paid our guy, or so he says. He was reaaaal proud of it when he told Jim, too, and he’ll lord it over him ‘til the end of time.»

His captain stared at him, all of the implications of being helped out by the freshest Don in town sinking in.

Leslie cleared her throat.

«And I should be present for this conversation because…»

«Because it is lunchtime, and the cap’ wanted to talk, and you wanted Chinese. I’m multitasking. And I figured Jim is too busy brooding and wouldn’t have told you the Penguin thing at all. Whoever mentions the subject around him is liable to get punched in the face.»

The M.E. didn’t deny not being told, which was as good as an admission.

«Why is Oswald Cobblepot so set on keeping Jim on the force?» Sarah exclaimed. «What does he have to gain? Is it just about when Jim saved his life?»

«Nah, it’s not about that. The guy sees being helped as a divine right, and everything else as a mortal offense. He has something to gain alright. He’s also collecting favors, so my bet is he’s gonna wait for Jim to be right where he wants him to call them all in. Which might be in a few years, for all we know.»

Lee was stunned, and her eyes moved back and forth between Sarah and Harvey. The detective knew she had _some_ idea of Jim’s mostly unwilling business relationship with Penguin, as she had heard all about the disaster at Falcone’s warehouse, but Gordon wasn’t a sharer. He’d never be. While she could beg, bully and barter the information out of him, she would never be sure he was totally frank. It had not seemed to matter a month before - she was _good_ with Jim and he was as wrapped around her finger as a guy like him could be - but now she seemed worried. She didn’t ask any questions, however. She was the kind of woman who understood Jim’s secrets were his to tell, and that prying would do no good.

«I want you to keep me update on _any_ move Cobblepot makes», Sarah announced. «Any time he contacts Jim, I want to be the first to know.»

Harvey nodded, chewing on a piece of chicken.

«I might not be kept in the loop. The creep is none too fond of me, on account of my past with Fish. But if I hear something, sure, I’ll tell you. Now, about something else… Is there any progress on the vigilante who nailed our victim’s boyfriend?»

«Not much. Everything he obtained for that investigation of his - the phone records, the bank records - he got using Jim’s identity. We know he’s male, in his thirties, and ‘polite’, from the bank employee who talked to him. But she wasn’t able to give a decent description.»

«Is Alvarez still working on it?»

«On that, and the two open cases he was on when you were suspended, _and_ Delores Stephenson’s case. You’re taking that one back, by the way.»

Leslie had opened her own meal, and was attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible as she ate, intently _not_ listening.

Bullock acquiesced.

«Alright. I’ll talk to Carlos. What about the Dollmaker case? Can we keep that one?»

«Can you get your informant to come forward?»

«Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.»

The captain sighed.

«I’ve relayed everything you told me to the Missing Persons Unit, about the Winston boys, the island, the organ trafficking ring, but without a credible source, they are not willing to listen to me. They’re investigating sex offenders right now.»

«So are we keeping it?»

«It depends. Is your informant _Fish Mooney_?»

Harvey closed his eyes and let the words roll over him. He had heard them before. They brought back memories.

He collected himself.

«If Fish was in Gotham, Penguin would have been drawn and quartered by now. No, she’s gone.»

Sarah was silent for a moment or so, knowing full well what the words meant to him, but also that neither of them should acknowledge that.

«Alright. Let’s be clear. You and Jim? You have a _lot_ of work to do before I trust you again and-»

«Come _on_! It was my fuck up. It was _my_ arrest. Don’t go and blame the boy for it.»

« _And_ you’re not getting any new cases, and most certainly none people expect to see solved.»

«Well that’s some good use of two salaries.»

«Let me finish. I have valid reason not to trust either of you right now. You can try to cover for Jim, but in the state he’s in, he has _not_ been doing a good job, and if he had not _made_ you handle that case alone, things might have turned out differently.»

Lee cleared her throat as loudly as humanly possible. Essen paused.

«I’ve made a list of six cases that have gone cold in the last year. You’ll be working on that, Stephenson’s case, and _yes_ , the Dollmaker, until you find something convincing enough to get the MPU’s interest. Now, those cases are hard to crack, and they are as dark and twisted as Gotham gets, and if someone can solve them, it’s you and Jim. So I suggest you do just that and we’ll see where that gets you. Is that alright with you?»

«It’s something», Harvey said.

He was furious, but he knew he had no right to complain. He’d been a failure for years, within limits, but Sarah had never been that blindsided by his blunders before. Never on a case that simple. Never with someone rubbing it like their vigilante had.

She nodded and left. Leslie cleared her throat again, this time choking on her food.

«I really don’t think I was supposed to hear that», she murmured.

Harvey shrugged.

«I dragged her here to be sure no one _else_ would listen in», he said. «Sorry about that. I don’t trust half of the unit with some of the things that were said.»

«… Cobblepot?» the M.E. tried.

«How much do you know about organ transplants?»

 

###

 

Oswald watched the security feed, intently.

Miriam’s letter had brought Gillian running in. The commissioner was playing checkers with the girl, a ritual of theirs, and she was winning. She thought he let her win. Oswald had seen her play, so he knew better. She had that particular skill that only came with not merely practice, but unrelenting, continual training. Like - say - playing the same game against yourself for two decades, to be ready for that one time in a month you got to try your skills against someone else.

It was Oswald’s opinion that Miriam was doing _much_ better at the mansion than in the attic Loeb had locked her in, and that her father’s visits were vastly undesirable.

«She’s very good at that», Victor said from his back, making his employer jump.

He turned to the door.

«Will you _stop_ sneaking up on people like that? It is unsettling.»

Zsasz smiled - which was not merely unsettling, but downright scary - and pointed at the screen.

«She beats everyone at this. She’s a predator», he commented.

«I thought we discussed your infatuation with young Miriam and how it was not to manifest, ever.»

The hitman rolled his eyes.

«You see things that aren’t there. I _like_ her. She’s. Crazy. But I have no interest in… _That_ », he finished with a grimace.

Oswald studied his face, frowning. Truth to be told, Victor’s taste for torture might have bordered on the sexual, but it was likely the only form of «gratification» he indulged in or cared for. He did not touch his sidekicks. He shrugged at the idea, anyway, and had looked nonplussed the one time Oswald had questioned him on that matter.

The crime lord dropped the topic and turned to the screen again.

«How much for Gillian Loeb?» he asked.

Zsasz joined him, leaning down to take a better look at the footage.

«It depends. Does he have to vanish? Or do I leave a bloody mess? Public execution or something quieter?»

The fact that he was listing options meant that he not only considered the mission as feasible, but also as affordable. No «two million dollars» quote.

But Oswald had Gillian in the palm of his hand, and nobody to put in his place. Not yet, anyway.

«It was merely a question.»

«Ah.»

They watched the screen in silence for a moment, then Zsasz turned to Oswald.

«I thought you said you would crush his spirit», he said. «To get him under your thumb. Did you chiiicken out, chicken?»

Cobblepot huffed.

«Seriously, Victor, did you think that was my move?»

The assassin tilted his head to the side.

«I was getting him in the _right place_ », the crime lord explained. «Seriously. My _move_ is planned for next week, Thursday, at two in the afternoon.»

 

###

 

Sabrina had lost track of the days.

She would wake up and go for a jog, and maybe chat with Sophie if she was out. Then she would go home, shower, and weep. The box of tampons next to the toilet had gone unused, and she _never_ looked that way - never - so she would not start hyperventilating.

In the morning, she watched movies, one by day, in order. «When Harry met Sally», then «Sleepless in Seattle», then «French Kiss», then «While you were sleeping», and sometimes «The wedding singer». In the afternoon, she slept. In the evening, she had dates. She knew David had been ordered to propose, because he had drawn a ring in the palm of her hand to warn her. He had not tried yet - maybe he had been told to wait for the right moment? - but he would. They walked together, or sat on plastic grass to watch a night sky that was not there, counting stars that did not exist. The Screen gave fairly specific orders. After the dates, they went home - to her place, or his - and had sex. Then she showered and rubbed herself so raw that she had scabs and bruises all over. The scratches that had healed had left brownish stains on her skin.

She had gotten so used to her necklace’s beeping that she did not hear it anymore. David once had to shake her into noticing.

She found great comfort in David. At night, once the lights were out and she was fairly certain the cameras were useless, she snuggled against him, and kissed him, and he let her. It was the one thing they could choose for themselves, in the dark, hidden under the covers, when Mrs. Valentine could not watch them.

The first time Sabrina had reached between his legs, he’d been shell-shocked, and she’d known he was staring at her in disbelief, even though neither of them could see the other. Then understanding had dawned, and he had rolled onto her. It had been rough, and she had been sore the next day, but it had to be quick and silent so it had to be hard, and it was still the _only_ thing they could choose for themselves.

He was usually gone in the morning.

Then, one «While you were sleeping» day, she awoke to mild discomfort, sat up, an felt wetness on the sheets. David stirred next to her, and she turned on the lights.

In a normal context, she would have been mortified, and rushed to the bathroom, and stolen the stained sheets, and then profusely apologized to Matthew (who would have said «hey, a little blood ain’t gonna make me faint»). She was not in a normal context, however, so she just looked down and started shaking. She must have looked very bad, because David immediately sat up and grabbed her shoulder.

Her teeth were chattering.

«Sabrina, Sabrina, calm down, calm down, it’s nothing», he tried. «Shh, shh, come here.»

She let him pull her close, and tried to take a deep breath, but she only managed a few shaky gasps.

«It’s nothing», he repeated. «I’m here. It’ll be alright. Come on, Sabrina, _please?_ »

«I’m s-sorry», she stammered. «I-I-I-I’m trying. I-»

He rocked her, rubbing her back, clearly panicking himself. She sobbed.

«I’m sorry», she repeated, this time in a clearer voice. She pulled back. «I’ll stop, I-I-I’ll stop. I don’t even k-know why I’m cr-»

 

###

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend is trying to convince me that I'm a monster on the basis of the previous chapter.
> 
> She has seen nothing yet.

When Sophie heard the explosion, her first thought was «not again». Then she dropped her book and jumped out of bed, just as Nate did, and she ran outside.

If the whiny little idiot had gotten David killed, there would be hell to pay. David was an all-around good guy, and he took way too many risks to protect the sniveling brats Mrs. Valentine paired him with.

The brunette stood by the door and looked around, trying to figure out if the noise had come from David’s house or Sabrina’s. There were lights in the latest, so she headed that way, but Nate grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.

«Stay with Shawn», he ordered. «Make sure he does not get out of his room.»

Sophie snatched her arm away and nodded, walking back inside. They were not expected to act blissfully in love right after executions: there was usually a mess to deal with, and Mrs. Valentine had other things on her mind. Nate, being the oldest tenant, was supposed to deal with the bodies and the cleanup. Everyone else was more or less forgotten.

She went to check on Shawn, who was sleeping soundly, then left the room and locked him in. There was no screaming, and she was starting to wonder if both David and Sabrina had been killed.

«Mrs. Valentine?» she called, waving at one of the cameras. «Could we get the Screen to show Shawn’s room, so I can go and help Nate out?»

She peeked through the window and, sure enough, the screen at the end of the street turned on, showing the boy’s bed. Sophie ran to number four, and slipped in. She heard some low, continuous moaning from the bedroom. David’s voice, covered by a litany of comforting words from Nate. She braced herself and walked into the room.

She promptly took a step back.

«Shit», she murmured.

It was a disaster scene. Sabrina’s corpse was on the bed, and walls, and everything else. Delores’ death had not been pretty, and neither had Haruto’s, but both had taken place outside. The splatter didn’t look nearly as bad in an open space. And no one had been standing as close as David. He was curled into a ball in a corner of the room, naked, covered in blood and flesh. Nate was trying to get him to move and leave the room, but it was clear that wouldn’t be happening. The man was in a whole new world inside his head and would not be coming back for a while. She joined them, and her husband turned to her.

«Help me», he mouthed, grabbing one of David’s arms and pulling him up.

Sophie did, and they managed to drag the other captive outside, where they sat him on the plastic grass. She went back inside to grab a fleece blanket from the sofa, and came back to wrap him in it. He was rocking back and forth, silently now, save for his chattering teeth.

Nate wiped his own forehead with a bloody hand. He looked quizzically at her - because she was not with Shawn and only Shawn mattered - so she pointed at the screen, and he relaxed a bit. He took her hand and started writing in her palm, in quick strokes of the thumb. Two years of this being your _only_ unmonitored method of communication would make you fluent in reading the letters on your skin.

«K-E-E-P D-A-V-I-D Q-U-I-E-T O-R S-H-E L-L K-I-L-L H-I-M T-O-O», he spelled.

Then he walked back into Sabrina’s house and closed the door.

Sophie crouched next to David and wiped his face with a corner of the blanket. Some of the blood was his. His face and torso were cut all over - shrapnel wounds - and she hoped the damage to his face wouldn’t make him damaged goods. A male lead had to be handsome. None of the cuts looked _that_ deep, but she did not want to know what the shrapnel had been. She pushed him and pulled him and coaxed him into his own house, then pushed him under the shower and tried to clean the mess.

 

###

 

«It’s Thursday», Victor said.

Oswald took a deep breath, as he would need the patience of a saint, and looked to the heavens.

«Is it?» he replied in his best uninterested voice.

«It is!» Miriam confirmed, lining pearls on a string.

She had been provided with a box of three-thousands pearl finish two millimeter beads, and three bucketfuls of larger beads - faceted crystal beads, pearls, fake gemstones, animal themed beads - and an unlimited supply of thread. She loved them. Oswald kept finding them everywhere (including in his food), but he liked that better than bloody feathers. And it made the girl happy.

«I know it is. What of it?»

«Nothing happened yet.»

Oswald huffed.

«I swear, Victor, you’re the least patient man I have ever met.»

 

###

 

«I want you to know, Arnold, that it was a pleasure working with you», Butch said, removing the keys from the ignition. «I mean, you did a fine job. And you seem like a nice guy, if a bit on the silent side.»

Flass looked at him and tried to free himself from his seatbelt. Butch detached it.

«You know, I’d like to apologize», he continued. «I always thought you were kind of a douchebag, what with the drug deals and general crookedness. I thought I’d met gangsters with more integrity than you did. What can I say? We work on separate sides of the fence - usually - and I shouldn’t have listened to rumors. I should have gotten to know you a little better.»

He opened the door and got out of the van, dragging Arnold in front of the wheel, attaching the _other_ seatbelt.

«Not that I’ll have the opportunity now, of course», the mobster commented, «but it’s a crying shame.»

The cop banged his feet against the floor and shook his head. Butch closed the door, took a few step back, and shot him in the face. Then he shot the van twice, to make it all more convincing. Then he opened the door again, untied Arnold, got his arm out from under the seatbelt, and put a gun into his hand.

It would do.

 

###

 

Raiding a mental institution with masks and automatic guns was ill advised. Raiding an institution for the _criminally insane_ was exponentially worse.

By the time the three armed men opened Barbara’s cell door, one of them had been stabbed, the screaming and wailing of the inmates had been going on for ten minutes, and the blonde had stopped counting the gunshots. The injured man just leaned against the door frame, panting. One of his accomplices just looked back to the corridor, a clear «what kind of nut house have I walked in?» expression on his face, that turned to «oh, _right_ » very quickly. The third one pointed his Uzi at Barbara.

«Come with us.»

She was a heiress, a killer, and a (slightly fallen for grace) member of the high society, yet she knew there was only one question to ask.

«What has Jim done this time?»

There was a pause. The kidnappers snapped out of their confusion quickly, however, and she was grabbed by the elbow and pulled outside.

«I’ll follow, I’ll follow» she said when her arm was twisted. «No need to be brutal.»

There was less grabbing and twisting after that, but mostly because the guards had rallied and tried to stop her abductor’s progression. They were gunned down, and that was the end of it. Then she was hurried outside, the limping, bleeding thug closing the march.

«You’re not afraid?», he asked between pants, looking both in pain and nonplussed, as they made their way to the grids.

«Me? Nooo», she replied. «I’m a frequent flier. This is my fourth hostage situation? Fifth? I lost track.»

The man gaped. She extended her arm so he could lean on her, seeing how he was growing pale with blood loss. And then he was shot in the throat, and went down gurgling. She looked down at her blood-splattered uniform and hissed. It was on her _face_ , too. It took a moment for the penny to drop in. Shooting situation. She dropped to the ground and waited for the shooting to stop, watching as her two remaining kidnappers fell.

Now, not only did she wear an ugly, itchy, bloodstained asylum uniform, she was also covered in grime.

A hand helped her up.

«Hurry», the man said. «There might be others, I’ll get you to safety.»

She turned and found herself face to face with Butch Gilzean.

«Oh, hey! It’s been a while!» she greeted him. «How are you doing?»

She remembered him well, mostly from that home invasion that had given her PTSD. But she didn’t hold a grudge. Now that she had participated in a home invasion of her own, she realized he had been an absolute joke. He had not even stabbed her once.

He blinked.

«Uh. Now is, uh, not the time. Please, run», he told her, pushing her through the gates.

They ran past a van with shattered windows, and found a car waiting for them. Barbara entered it without protest, and hid on the backseat, under a grey blanket, as Gilzean ordered her to. The man took the wheel and sped away as fast as the car could go.

«I’m confused», Barbara asked from under her blanket. «Is this an abduction or a rescue? Not that I mind either way.»

«Rescue.»

«Alright. Who am I being rescued from, then?»

«Lady, would you mind being silent while I try to save both our lives? Please?»

She rolled her eyes and waited until he started driving at a normal pace again, which took several minutes.

«Can I talk _now_?» she asked.

«No?»

«Is it safe?»

The criminal sighed.

«I guess is it. You can come out.»

She dropped the blanket, sat up, and leaned forward, propping her chin on the driver’s seat shoulder.

«From whom am I being saved?»

«Iiiiiiit’s kind of a long story.»

«I’m a great listener.»

«Does the name ‘Flass’ ring a bell?»

«The narcotics cop James arrested for murder, and who got out a few weeks later?»

«I see you’re well informed. Makes the story a lot less long, I suppose. He had a chip on his shoulder.»

«And it was big as a boulder?»

«What?»

«Sincerely, does anyone have a musical culture anymore?»

Gilzean forgot to look at the road for a second, turning to her in confusion.

«I’m sorry, _what_?»

He nearly took out a pedestrian and had to swerve.

«Just forget it», Barbara sighed. «So. I don’t suppose Jim sent you.»

«Uh, ah, not to be rude or anything, but would you mind waiting for my boss to explain it all? I’m just hired muscle and, in case you didn’t notice, I’m _driving_.»

«No need to get testy, I’m just curious.»

«You know, I remembered you a lot more silent.»

«Yes, and I remember when you _couldn_ _’t stop talking_. People change! Surprise!»

He didn’t answer that, and pretended to focus on the road. She moved back and looked out the window for a few minutes, then leaned forward again, putting her chin on the left shoulder of the driver’s seat.

«You know, I _have_ », she announced.

«I’m sorry but could you start making _sense_?»

«When you held me hostage in my apartment. You asked me a question.»

«I-I… Christ, miss, have you ever been told there’s something _off_ with you? No offense.»

«None taken. And yes, as it turns out. By my mother, every time she said something to me, for a start. Then by the very nice people at Arkham.»

«Right. What was your point?»

«You asked me if I had ever ‘been’ with a criminal. And I _have_. And I _did_ find it a turn-on», she explained, wrapping an arm around him and pushing her hand between the buttons of his shirt.

Her fingers met more scar tissue than they did skin. Gilzean tried to jump away.

The car went spinning.

 

###

 

«Jim will find me», Leslie said as the torturer prepared his instruments. «He will.»

There was a cling as a scalpel was dropped on a metal tray, and the man chuckled.

«Not to burst your bubble, lady, but the guy doesn’t have a stellar track record. Is he gonna find you like when he found that Kean gal? ‘Cause I hear she’s having a field day in Arkham Asylum.»

That elicited a burst of laughter from the four armed men who had brought Lee in. They had grabbed her from the GCPD’s parking lot, pulling her into a van parked next to her car before she could even understand what was going on. She had taken a few blows when she had tried to escape: hard enough to for her nose to bleed but not to break, and for her legs to bruise. Nothing serious, and nothing in comparison of what the torturer had planned for her. And explained. In excruciating detail.

She squirmed on her seat, but the restraints were tight, both around her body and her wrists.

«You know, the Ogre had a reputation. All those girls he abducted. The press said a loooot of things about that guy», the butcher taunted, scratching her cheek with a dagger.

«I’m sure they did», Leslie replied in a collected tone, trying not to show fear.

The thug slapped her. Her nose started bleeding again.

«Jim will find me», she said again.

Or someone. There were security cameras in that parking lot. Someone was bound to notice something. Her car was still there, too.

Still, she was terrified, and she could hear Barbara’s voice, straight from that «therapy session», telling her everything she had _not_ wanted to know about Jason Lennon, and his tools, and everything he had done. And how he had hit her when _she_ had told _him_ Jim would find her.

«I mean, he eventually _did_ », Barbara had told her later that night, when she had regained consciousness after that murder attempt. «But, really, he was a bit late. It was my _second_ date with Jason, you know? I’d brought him home the night before, and he told me he would have killed me back then if I had not been _me_.»

Not a stellar track record.

 _Don_ _’t ever think that_.

«Now, let’s clear a misconception», the torturer said, waving pliers. «Gordon _is_ too late. Even if he arrives now, he will be too late. I like to get little details like that out of the way quickly.»

To make his point, he took her hand, and a distal phalanx. She did not hear her own scream, but her throat tasted like blood. The man poured acid in a bucket, then waited for her to calm down. When she did, her screams turning into sobs and keening, he dropped the amputated finger tip into the acid.

And it would always be too late. There would be no going back, no hope for reattachment, and everything would be different from that moment on.

She heard herself screaming again.

«Shall we continue?» the criminal asked, trading the pliers for a scalpel.

The doors slammed open and everyone started shouting. It was all very fast, especially in Leslie’s state, faint with blood loss and hyperventilating. In a second or so, her kidnappers were dead, being on the wrong side of assault riffles.

A man limped to her.

«Oh, that’s _disgraceful_ », he said, inspecting her hand. «What kind of _monster_ would do this? _Victor!_ Tend to that wound, will you?»

Leslie raised her head, trying to slow her breathing. She did not succeed, nor did she manage to get a word out. Just sobs. Another man joined them, and examined her injury, then went to gather supplies from the medical cabinet a few steps away.

«I’m so sorry we arrived so late, Miss Thompkins. But you’re safe now. You’re safe. We’ll get you out of here», the first man said.

Cobblepot, she thought. Oswald Cobblepot. Then Victor came back with a syringe and offered an injection of painkillers. The name and dosage sounded about right. She did not think much after that.

 

###


	13. Chapter 13

Harvey went home with a fresh bottle of whiskey and a migraine. He opened the door, took a deep «God grant me patience» sigh, and dropped into his sofa. Then he turned to the girl sitting next to him in said sofa.

«What, pray tell, are you doing here?»

«I came to see if you had new leads on the Dollmaker», Kyle replied, pointing the zapper at the TV and flipping channels.

He groaned. It had been a long day. It had been a long, long day. Sarah was none too pleasant, _Jim_ was none too pleasant. Hell, even Nygma was none too pleasant. Not that he ever was, but it was a different kind of unpleasantness, recently, more on the brooding, snappish side. He wasn’t even asking riddles, and when he was, he stopped himself halfway and cut the conversation short. Which made it very hard to extract information from the guy. After years praying for him to shut up… Well, «careful what you wish for», they said. They were right.

«I already have _one_ boss riding my ass», the cop snapped. «I don’t need two.»

The girl shrugged and offered him some of his own chocolate cookies, taken from his own cupboard.

«I’m still asking», she said.

He sighed, grabbed the remote, and flipped channels.

«Jack shit on the Dollmaker. You can leave now.»

If some children had benefited from the Winston boys’ organs, either it was not in Gotham, either their parents had kept the secret well. Harvey was still looking, but obtaining the medical records of every O negative underage patient on the continent wasn’t going to be doable.

What he had discovered, though, was that Delores Stephenson was not the first Gothamite to have been killed by some device around her neck. _That_ was the one interesting bit of trivia Nygma had shared that afternoon, before he’d lost it and stalked back to the morgue or wherever he usually dwelled. Unidentified Asian male, found cut to pieces in a landfill, with shrapnel wounds indicating an explosion under the throat. That was the extent of the information Nygma had given them, and trying to get the case file out of the records had proved difficult. Miss Kringle was on vacation and the intern filling in was not very good at navigating «rusematic» indexes. The intern had promised to find the files in the next twenty-four hours, fingers crossed. Until the boy managed, Jim and Harvey couldn’t be sure the two murders were related.

The brat took a cookie and started munching on it, looking at the TV.

«Do I need to carry you out?» Harvey asked.

«Have you looked into miraculous recoveries? People changing eye colors?»

«I’ll take that as a yes», the cop replied, standing.

He scooped her up, which she had not expected at all, because it took her nearly five seconds to start trashing and whacking his head. He tried to keep his face out of the way of her fists and made his way to the door. Then she scratched his cheek and he dropped her.

«Are you _crazy_?» they shouted in unison.

She got up in a swift motion. He wiped his cheek. Sure enough, the little bitch had drawn blood, which made him angry, and it reminded him of Fish, which made him near ballistic.

«That’s it, get the fuck out, don’t _ever_ come back, or you’re going back to Juvie», he snapped, shoving her out.

She backed away easily enough - the girl had enough instinct to know when there was actual danger - but froze right under the door. Harvey raised a hand. He wouldn’t have hit her (not too hard), but she didn’t know that.

«I said GET-»

«Wait!»

She pointed to the the TV, eyes wide.

He turned. Barbara Kean’s photo was taking half the screen. On the other, some news anchor broke the news of an attack on Arkham Asylum.

 

###

 

Jim dropped his keys on the sideboard as he entered Leslie’s apartment. The day had been long, very long. He’d spent it on the phone, calling Delores Stephenson’s family, her friends, and a few dozen factories, twice as many chemicals sellers, and two explosives experts. Nothing on that side. They were waiting for Thomas, the intern in charge of the records annex, to unearth files on a seemingly similar murder, in the hope they could get more information that way. On the whole, Jim had spent his day desperately trying to make some progress, with no result whatsoever.

«Lee?» he called, as she should have been home.

He had not seen her leave the precinct, but her car was gone. Then again, the fridge was empty - as he noticed as he served himself some orange juice - so she was probably getting groceries.

He filled a pan with water, put it on the stove, and got a box of spaghetti from the cupboard. He had to open every single kitchen cabinet to locate some tomato sauce, but he eventually found a pot right behind the boxes of cereal (which was maybe a sign that Leslie was not that fond of tomato sauce). He reconsidered the spaghettis and grabbed his phone, so he could ask her her opinion on the evening’s meal.

That was when he discovered that he had missed seven calls during his drive from the precinct to the apartment, all of them from Oswald Cobblepot.

 

###

 

Sophie climbed the stairs to the mansion and stopped a few feet away from the metal door that separated their prison from the outside world. There was a green light above it, so it was unlocked, but walking up to it was always a scary prospect. She took a step forward. Her necklace did not start beeping, so she took the three remaining ones. She closed her eyes. She breathed in. She opened the door. Fresh air brushed her skin.

 _Wind_.

_Wind!_

It had been months since she had last been upstairs. The last time, she had been lucky enough to be called upstairs during the day. She had seen actual _sunlight_. She still dreamed of that pinkish, orange glow on her eyelids. Shawn, who had not known the the air could move and that the sky could be blue, had wailed for hours, and Nate had tried to make him understand the concept of open spaces, in vain. The boy had to be taken downstairs again.

Wind. Wind, and moonlight. The normal, grayish light of a real night sky, without the blue hue of the floodlights.

But she was not really _outside_ , of course. This was only the peristylium, a closed in garden, with walls and armored door on every side. All of doors of the mansion, up to the exit, were equipped with a proximity sensor that would activate Sophie’s necklace if she tried to leave. Shawn’s mother had wanted to prove it was all a bluff, and Nate had ended up _remarrying_. Becky had been a reckless idiot and Sophie _loathed_ her. Sophie would have been enjoying sunlight until the end of her days if Becky had not thrown caution to the winds.

Three of the peristylium’s doors were locked, but the fourth was lit green, and the brunette went through it, entering a library filled with Victorian furniture and Greek statues. She followed the open doors, passing through a similarly decorated hallway, to finally arrive in Mrs. Valentine’s living room. The old bitch was watching TV, back turned to the door, sitting on her white, spotless Victorian lounge made of golden wood and satin cushions. She drank from an antique tea set, on a silver plater, on a low table covered with a lace tablecloth. Her permed, short grey hair was slightly on the violet side, and thinning.

Sophie was tempted to cross the few steps that separated her from Valentine and to throw herself at her throat. Sure, the proximity sensor the woman carried would make her necklace go off after a few steps, but if the brunette was quick enough, maybe the bomb would blow _both_ of their heads off.

Nate was standing by the door, soaked in blood, and was talking to the cunt.

«He might need some time. He… It shocked him. It’s always hard at the beginning. And it’s the second time, too. He was fragile.»

«I don’t know why it is so hard to find him a good match», Mrs. Valentine replied in that bleating voice of her’s. «He’s so handsome, so charming. You cannot fault him on his behavior at all: he’s as perfect as they come. And yet…»

«I really would advise giving him a few weeks», Nate said. «A month or two, maybe.»

«I will, I will. I didn’t intend for him to get so attached. You could see the girl was a terrible match, but she hadn’t been… _Indisposed_. You know I wouldn’t harm an unborn child», Valentine explained to a Nate who knew that very well. «Thankfully, that cleared up. Sophie, how is David?»

«Sleeping, Mrs. Valentine. I gave him some pills. I figured resting would do him good.»

Passing out was the only relief the poor guy could hope for, so the brunette had sacrificed the four sleeping pills she had left, and a glass of vodka to help them go down. David had been shaking so hard she had feared the drugs would not work. She had spent half an hour hugging him and rocking him until he fell asleep. Then she had locked the door to Shawn’s room, since the stupid kid couldn’t be brought upstairs without having a panic attack of his own, and she could not trust David around him.

«That’s good», the old hag commented. «Very good. Please stay with him today. Nate?»

«Yes, Mrs. Valentine?»

«Go change, then we’ll take the… Package downtown.»

He looked down, and Sophie followed his eyes to a large suitcase. Her stomach lurched.

«Very well, Mrs. Valentine», he replied, taking his wife’s wrist to pull her out of the living room.

They walked back to the peristylium. Nate’s breathing grew wheezy and quick, but his face remained perfectly blank. Still, when he opened the door to the basement, he looked down at his bloody hands, and the brown grime under his fingernails, and he nearly lost it. Sophie saw his eyes go wet, and dug her nails into his arm so he would snap out of it.

 

###

 

Oswald paced in his living room.

The surgeon he had called in was done suturing Thompkins’ finger - a nice, clean job, that would prevent the woman from losing more than that fingertip - and was packing his tools, giving his patient a list of instructions she probably did not need. She was mostly lucid now, but still very subdued. She kept looking down at her hand and sobbing, however. That was irritating. It was only the one phalanx, and from the pinky, at that. Oswald’s _leg_ was basically unusable, but did your hear him complain?

«They should be here by now», he whispered to Victor, who was standing by the door. «Any word?»

The hitman shook his head. Oswald groaned and paced some more.

Jim had called him back (in response the seven calls Oswald had made sure to time with the cop’s drive home from work, all of them too short to let a ringtone go past its first note), and was on his way. He wouldn’t arrive easily. Seeing how Gilzean was AWOL, the crime lord had called some men, who had received the order to spill a delivery’s truck worth of wine bottles on Pioneer’s bridge. There would be no driving from Thompkins’ apartment to the mansion for two solid hours.

Once the surgeon was gone, Cobblepot returned to the woman, who was laying in his new sofa and had managed to stain it with that bloody hand of hers, and he put on his softest smile.

«I don’t know why Jim has not arrived yet, but he should be here any moment now. Is there anything you need?»

«I-I… I’m fine, thank you», she murmured.

She tried not to look down to her hand, and failed.

«I’m so very sorry we didn’t arrive sooner», Oswald said, because while he was talking, he could not hear her sob. «I so deeply regret that short delay. W-»

He jumped back at the noise of screeching tires, coming from the park. He hoped it was not Jim, not before Kean was secured. But the next thing he heard was Gilzean’s voice.

«INSIDE», the thug was screaming. «GET. INSIDE.»

A car door slammed. Oswald made his way to the window and watched as his man, frayed and bloody, pushed a laughing Barbara Kean into the mansion. A few moments later, the door opened on Butch, who dragged the blonde inside. She was dirty, covered in blood, but unharmed. The same could not be said of Butch, who had clearly had to tend to a nosebleed.

«WHERE WERE YOU?» his boss screamed. «We’ve been worried sick!»

Gilzean forgot his usual terrified subservience, throwing Kean forward. Leslie moved back on the sofa. Barbara chuckled.

«We crashed the car», Gilzean said. «I had to buy another. Which would have gone a _thousand_ times better if the lady had not started screaming that I was abducting her to rape her.»

«Hey! For all I knew, that was true. I seem to recall that the first time we met, you threatened me with just that.»

«Oh come _on_ , that was just banter. It’s part of the job, too. Grab the hostage, scare her a little, wait for the target…»

He turned to Oswald, saw that the younger man was going livid with rage, and quickly amended his words.

«Obviously, I’m not in this line of business anymore, Miss Kean. Now, I work for a friend.»

«So am I finally going to be briefed on the whole thing?» the blonde piped back. «Maybe by you, Mister Cobblepot?»

The crime lord composed himself.

«Of course, Miss. Please take a seat.»

She took a seat, sitting with her back straight and her chin up and her hands on her knees like a schoolgirl.

«It came to my attention today that an old enemy of Jim Gordon - a man called Arnold Flass», Oswald explained, looking to Butch to make sure that said Arnold Flass would not be back to present his own version of the story, «was recruiting some men to exact revenge on James, who had arrested him for murder a few months ago. Now, as you maybe know, Arnold Flass is a cop, which left me with very limited options. I knew he had something planned for today, but… I could hardly contact the authorities, could I? So I took it upon myself to send some of my men to rescue the two of you. I’m sorry the circumst-»

«Okay», Kean cut in, bouncing out of her chair.

She started walking around the room, looking at the furniture and decoration. She had left her sandals under the seat.

«So let me get this straight», she asked, stopping in front of a painting. «All of this, the whole rescue, is to impress Jim?»

«I beg your pardon?»

The blonde started walking in another direction, now looking at Oswald.

«Its a lot of effort for two strangers, if you have nothing to gain. So I figure you gain something from impressing Jim. Don’t you?»

He did his best not to frown nor purse his lips.

«You are mistaken. James is a dear friend of mine who - as you very well know - once saved my life. It’s only my duty to return the favor by protecting the people he loves.»

Barbara stopped dead in her tracks, next to Thompkins’s seat. The doctor slid to the opposite end of the sofa.

«Love?» the blonde asked, looking stunned.

«Well, of c-»

«Oh, no, no, you poor man, you don’t understand Jim at all, do you?»

By that point, Oswald was confused, the guards were confused, and Gilzean was just leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

«Jim does not love anyone», Kean continued, in a nice, warm voice, playing with a necklace she was not actually wearing, out of habit. «It’s not his fault! He tries very hard. He’s a good man. But he just does not _know_ how to love. It’s not in him.»

Cobblepot stared at her.

«And since Jim does not know how to love, he does not know how to _protect_ people. He knows how to fight for them, however. He’ll do that. He won’t stop until he _wins_.»

Her fingers kept searching for something on her throat, patting up and down and circling.

«Now, of course, that’s bad news for you, because after you harm us, Jim won’t rest until he sees you dead. I hope you know that.»

«I have no intention to harm eit-»

She smiled, pulled a knife out of her cleavage, whirled, and slashed Leslie Thompkin’s throat.

 

###

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so love to ruin Oswald's carefully laid plans.


	14. Chapter 14

Fish slipped out of bed, fighting the overwhelming pain that coursed trough her body at that.

She had to free herself from dozen of cables and needles, but at least she was no longer attached to the bed frame, unlike the previous days. She knew where she was - she felt the sutures everywhere - but she did not know _what_ she was yet. She needed light. She had to know. The heartbeat monitor next to her bed was giving a faint glow. She put her hands in front of its screen, an heaved. Oh, she couldn’t make out a single detail, but the shape she saw was gray and not black. Fish moved away, shivering, her legs so painful she got cold sweats and nausea. She grabbed a table - too stupidly low - and a chair - just a few inches too small too. Then she followed the walls, that were all covered with mirrors - until she found a switch.

She closed her eyes and turned the lights on.

She knew it was not going to be pretty. What Dulmacher had done to his previous manager had been horrendous enough, and it had been a punishment for a minor mistake. The man had not escaped the island with several valuable prisoners, sacrificing several others in the process. He has not been the Dollmaker’s personal enemy.

It was not going to be pretty.

_Well, don_ _’t stand here whining a child, it’s not going to make it better._

She opened her eyes. Blue and brown irises looked back at her, still alien and mismatched. Both were bruised violet and circled with yellowish skin that grew pinker as she looked down to her cheek, and lips, and chin. Pale, white skin, patched together by thin pink lines sutured with transparent thread, from her nostrils to her lips, along the cheekbones. She took in the details first, the scars, the cuts, the bruises, the _bloody skin color change_ , the swollen flesh.

_He erased me, he erased me, he erased- STOP IT._

It was change. She could adapt. It was more extreme - _erasedmeerasedme_ \- than what she was used to deal with, but she could power through this. _Thisissomeoneelsesface._ She could make use of the change. She could. She forced herself to calm down, controlling her breathing.

Yes, yes, it was some dead woman’s face. And so what? Freaking out over it would not bring her back to life.

The full, sulky lips would work. The full cheeks would make her look younger. It was hard to say with the sutured wounds and the swollen flesh, but the face was possibly much younger than Fish’s actual age. The eyebrows were…

She took in the whole face, and jumped back.

A beautiful oval face with thick, sulky lips, and heavy eyelids over almond eyes, _LizaLizaLizaLiza_.

Fish covered the face with her hands (both a pinkish shade of white with faint scars on the sides of the fingers, where the skin had been sewn like the top and bottom of a glove). She didn’t scream, she was not about to scream, she wouldn’t scream.

The door opened.

«I’m sorry. The likeness is not perfect. It was hard enough to work from photographs, but finding a lookalike proved difficult», Dulmacher said.

Fish could hear his smirking.

She breathed in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out.

 _Liza_. Liza, sparkling blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick Liza, with the blank and empty look from one who had gone past desperate and settled into nothingness. Blonde, elegant, quiet Liza with a silk shawl around her head. Liza who would have done _anything_ because she had _nothing_ , and who had found _something_ at Carmine’s side, a hint of herself. Before he had killed her.

Fish’s jailer joined her, looking at her in the mirror.

«When I said I’d bring you back from the dead if I had to, I did not suspected I was being literal. That gunshot wound _did_ kill you. You might have lasted a bit longer without that fight, but the blood loss was extreme. I’m surprised you even made it out of the water.»

He took a step back, slipping behind her, and pulled her - the - hands away from her - the - face.

«How do you like being your worst nightmare, Miss Mooney? Arms and legs that aren’t yours… Not that there is _anything_ left of you», he said, pulling her hospital gown down.

She was a patchwork. Long white legs, changing tones at the knees, and definitely much longer than Fish’s had been. That explained how low the table and chair had seemed. Her body was a patchwork of whites and yellows, connected by glaring red lines, all of it bruised and raw.

«You seemed to have such a high opinion of yourself», the maniac said. «I figured, how best to punish you than by taking ‘yourself’ away?»

Herself was not gone. She was still right there, a burning ball of rage in the middle of her chest.

«Why _Liza_?» she asked.

«I looked into you. Followed you back to Gotham, where I learned everything there was to know about Maria Mercedes Mooney, fallen Mafia queen. How she had sent her mistress to spy on Carmine Falcone and caused her death, among other things. Since, for the foreseeable future, you’re going to spend a lot of time in front of a mirror, you might as well employ that time to reminisce.»

She stared at his reflection, straight in the eyes, jaw clenched.

«Considering the extend of the - ah - ameliorations, you will _also_ be in excruciating pain for the foreseeable future», he added. «The hazards of muscle reattachment and skin grafts. Every movement you make will feel like-»

She turned to him.

«You think you can bring me down», she snarled.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

«I-»

« _You_ think you can bring _me_ down», she repeated, turning his smile into a frown.

She used those strange, alien legs to trip him to the floor, and dropped onto him with her full weight, sinking both knees into his stomach. She punched him in the face.

«Better men than you have tried», she railed, punctuating her sentence with another blow. «Stronger men than you have tried. _No one_ can bring me down! _Nothing_ can bring me down!»

She kept punching him, and would have killed him right there if it had been an option. But her body was coming apart at the seams. Blood was streaming from her shoulders and knees, and the scars along her fingers and wrist were reopening too. Not that she felt the pain. She started feeling faint, however. Her skin grew clammy, her breathing labored. She fumbled to get up and walked to the door, hearing Dollmaker cough and hack on the floor as he rolled to the side. She opened the door and started running away, in clumsy strides. She made it to the end of the corridor, then passed out.

 

###

 

It had all been planned so carefully. The plan had been so simple, too, and the goal so clear.

Hiring two teams of henchmen in Arnold Flass’ name. Abducting the two women in Jim’s life. Damaging them just _enough_ to be sure the guilt would eat James alive, and yet not so much as to ruin their lives permanently. Staging an heroic rescue while making sure Gordon could in _no way_ suspect Thompkins and Kean were in danger. Informing him of the ladies’ continued survival while rubbing his failing in his face. Reaping the rewards. Making good use of a debt of honor that could _never_ be fully repaid.

It had gone near perfectly too.

Now it was a disaster. An unmitigated disaster.

«GET THAT SURGEON BACK», Oswald screamed as Victor rushed to Thompkins to stem her bleeding. «HE JUST LEFT. HE CAN’T BE FAR.»

Two men ran out. Gilzean joined Zsasz, gaping like an idiot.

Kean walked away from her handiwork and went for the bar, pouring herself a glass of vodka and watching the panic with mild interest. Oswald stared at her in disbelief for a second or so, then charged.

«WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?» he screamed right in her face, nearly head-butting her in his hurry.

She moved back and took a sip of her drink.

«Because I could?»

«Are you _crazy_?»

«Why, yes?»

The crime lord glared at her. The blonde lifted her eyebrows.

«I’m sorry. Were you under the impression that you had abducted me from ‘Arkham, girl scout colony for the mentally sound?’»

Oswald opened his mouth. He found no answer to _that_ , so he went for the second most important subject.

« _I_ did not abduct you!» he shouted. «I sent my men to _save your life_.»

«What- _ever_ », she replied.

He took a deep breath, fuming. Then he snapped.

«YOU DID NOT HAVE TO KILL HER! WHAT AM I GOING TO TELL JIM?»

«Of course I had to. I loathe the woman.»

«It’s a flesh wound», Zsasz pointed out in an unconcerned voice.

«WHAT IS IT TO ME THAT YOU LOATHED HER? DO YOU SEE ME STABBING EVERYONE I DON’T LIKE?»

It was a good thing he and Miss Kean were not very well acquainted, now that he thought of it, because that argument did not hold much water.

«It’s… A… Flesh… Wound», Victor repeated, rolling his eyes.

Oswald whirled to him.

«It is?»

«It _is_?» Kean asked in a disappointed voice.

«It is», the hitman confirmed, pointing to Thompkins.

She was holding a napkin to her neck with her injured hand, and Barbara Kean’s shiv with the other. She appeared to be thoroughly pissed.

«It _is_ », she barked. «And let me warn you, if you let her get near me again, you’ll have to explain _her_ death to Jim.»

Barbara rolled her eyes and gulped down the rest of her vodka, then served herself a new one.

«A motion like that with a knife that rudimentary could not have made much damage», Victor explained. «There’s no enough strength in that kind of motion. It will leave a gash, but you’d need more momentum, _or_ a hooked blade. If you _want_ to be efficient with a front attack to the throat and a straight blade, it’s best to stick the point of the knife right _here_ », he continued, tapping the side of his neck. «Then you pull the blade to you.»

Kean was listening to that. Intently. Oswald could have killed them both.

«WILL YOU STOP GIVING THE LUNATIC INSTRUCTIONS?» he shrieked.

Everyone went silent. Everyone _remained_ silent.

He cleared his throat.

«Miss Thompkins, once again, I’m so sorry. If I had suspected this might happen, I-»

«It’s not like I was committed for trying to kill her or anything», Kean interrupted. «You couldn’t possibly have guessed.»

«Weren’t you interned because you murdered your _parents_?» he snapped back.

«Yes, _among other things_.»

Oswald sighed.

«Victor. Please escort Miss Kean to the basement and lock her up. Preferably in a room where she cannot acquire makeshift weaponry. And I would greatly appreciate if neither of you contracted a lethal injury in the process.»

The hitman nodded, grabbed Barbara, and dragged her out of the room.

Oswald closed his eyes and collected himself. He told the guards to tend to Jim’s irritating girlfriend. He turned to Butch.

«A word, if you please.»

Gilzean crumpled but followed him to his office without a complaint, though he was sweaty and trembling. Cobbleplot closed the door.

«How could you let this _happen_?»

«Oswald, please, how was I supposed to guess she had a shank? It’s not like she tried to use it on our guys when they got her out, or even on me.»

«Did you _search her for weapons_?»

«Even if I had the time to frisk her, I swear I saw no reason to! She wasn’t aggressive or anything!»

«She was an _inmate_. Haven’t you been in prison before?»

Gilzean paused.

«You have a point. I’m so, so sorry.»

His boss tapped his chess with a finger.

«I’ll make sure Victor lets you know exactly how much you-»

He stopped. Two cars were entering the property, their arrival shown by the security screen always on in the office (a precaution against Giulia Maroni). One of them was the surgeon’s. The other was Jim’s. Oswald raced out of the room and down to the basement. He found Zsasz, who was making his way to the first floor.

«Victor», the mob boss said. «My friend. First, I’ll let you know that what I am about to do is in no way personal and that you should not retaliate, as I will generously pay you for the pain you’re about to experience. Please believe me when I say that I have considered a variety of other options to deal with the situation at hand, yet none were satisfactory, so I’m left with no choice.»

The killer looked at him blankly, bemused.

Oswald punched him in the nose.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to have an inordinate amount of fun writing a scene:  
> 1\. Put all of the crazies in a room.  
> 2\. See what unfolds.
> 
> Also, news from Fish! Ain't that neat? :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a vast amount of song quoting in the last scene. The credits are in the end notes, since the POV character doesn't recognize the song. :)

Jim wrapped his arms around Leslie’s shivering frame, and did not let go.

She was trying to keep it together, he could see that, but the truth was that she was in unbearable pain and was urgently in need of a trip to the hospital. She was bruised and battered everywhere he could see, and where he could not see - like under the bandage around her hand - the damage was plain horrendous. The freshly sutured gash on her throat was red and swollen, and the cop couldn’t look at it without flashbacks of himself pressing a handkerchief to a similar cut on Barbara’s bleeding neck. _It_ _’s gonna be okay,_ he had told her.

«Why didn’t you just bring her to Gotham General?» the detective snapped, not quite looking at Cobblepot.

If he had tried looking at him, he was certain he would have lost it and started screaming himself hoarse.

«Flass had recruited men to watch the hospital, or so my informants told me! I just couldn’t risk it! Imagine if we had brought miss Thompkins to the emergency room, only to see her gunned down by some hireling! The best I could do was to bring her here, where a qualified doctor was ready to care for her.»

Jim closed his eyes. Lee had not shown him her hand, but he’d been told of the fingertip her abductors had amputated. The more he held onto her, the more her weight shifted onto him, as she could not keep herself upright.

The blond felt as if standing on the line between wanting to kill someone and needing to.

«Where is Barbara now?»

Zsasz, who had been tending to his nosebleed in a corner of the living room, grunted.

«Gone. She took me by sur-PRI-se.»

Wanting, needing.

«Are you sure her body won’t be found floating in the river by the end of the week?» Jim wondered, because it was the most likely possibility.

The hitman glared at him and stood up in a slow, jittery motion.

«If I had her. If I HAD HER», he screamed. «It would not be at the _end_ of the WEEK. Not. That. _Soon_. I would plaaaaay with her. Carmine did not _let_ me, but I’m on my _own_ NOW.»

The outburst snapped Jim out of his fury, horrified shock taking over for a second. You knew Zsasz was insane. The blond had faced him before. He knew. He’d seen it up close. «Alive is a very broad category». But even back then, during that shooting match at the precinct, Zsasz had been on a leash. Now, nothing stopped him from grabbing his weapon and gunning down everyone in the room, Leslie included. It was not just that he could: he would have enjoyed it, and he was not _unlikely_ to. Lee seemed to realize that too. She shifted away and stared at the killer in stunned terror.

Penguin raised his hands in aggravation.

«Victor! Is not the situation not dire enough for you? Do you somehow feel obligated to make it _worse_?»

The bald man slipped back into a saner persona, composing himself.

«I was merely attempting to make Jim see how accusing people without a shred of proof is not usually welcome.»

«Out», Penguin ordered, showing him the door. «Out, out, out. Now.»

The hitman frowned. The crime boss stared back at him in annoyance. Then Zsasz snorted and left the room. Now, that was something to be worried about, Jim thought.

«He obeys you», the cop remarked.

Cobblepot clicked his tongue.

«Things get much easier with Victor when you realize that he is absolutely clueless about what to do with himself. He is able to put on a very convincing, mature veneer, but the truth is that he is a five years old at heart. If you raise your voice, he will sulk, but he will listen.»

Gordon kept his voice carefully neutral.

«I wish I had known that when he raided the GCPD.»

«Just… Don’t pay attention to the man. He’s annoying but mostly harmless. I wish he would not spend so much time around the mansion, but it’s my understanding he comes with the place. Now, to come back on the topic of miss Kean… My men are looking for her as we speak. She could not possibly have gone far. Once she is caught, I’ll have her delivered to the GCPD. As unharmed as the situation allows it. I can’t guarantee some overzealous guard won’t shoot her in the leg to incapacitate her, but that should be the extend of her injuries. If there are injuries. I did instruct my men not to use violence.»

Jim studied his face and bit the inside of his cheek to stay silent. Once the urge to strangle the man passed, he changed the topic.

«We’ll discuss this, but not now. I’m going to bring Leslie to the hospital, and if any ‘hireling’ tries to interfere, he’ll get a hard welcome.»

«Of course, of course. Do you want some of my men to accompany you? They would provide solid protec-»

«No.»

Rage flickered over Oswald’s pasty face. He forced himself to smile.

«Ah. A-as you wish, my friend.»

 _He_ _’s going to make you pay if you piss him off now,_ the cop realized. _He_ _’s about as sane as Zsasz._

«Thanks for the help today», he said through gritted teeth.

«Don’t mention it. I could hardly stay idle in such an emergency, could I?»

«I suppose not. Leslie, let’s go.»

She nodded, he near carried her to the exit.

«I’ll call you tomorrow, my friend», Oswald said as a guard opened the door.

Jim felt a chill run down his spine.

 

###

 

«No offense or anything», Butch said, «but you suck at killing people.»

He peeked to the side, briefly, as he had crashed one car earlier and did not want to repeat the experience. Barbara Kean wriggled her naked toes on the dashboard. Her shoes were still in Falcone’s - Oswald’s - mansion, so she was escaping barefooted. She didn’t seem to mind.

«I did the best I could! I didn’t have much time!» she snapped. «I would have liked to see you try! I don’t think you’d have done much better.»

«Of course I would have done much better. I’ve more experience with knives, for a start. And then I’d have used a gun. You can’t go wrong with a gun.»

«Geez. I don’t know if you’re aware of the fact, but firearms are somewhat more difficult to obtain in a mental institution.»

«Well then, in your place, I wouldn’t have tried at all. I don’t know how you weren’t gunned down the second you touched Thompkins.»

«Cobblepot wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of engineering my abduction and so-called rescue to lose everything at the last second. He needed at least one of us alive, or Jim would have butchered him.»

«How did you even know that he was the one who-»

«Oh _please_. You’ve met the man. He’s a weird, conniving little rat who just _needs_ Jim to like him. I’ve met him for a grand total of ten minutes in my life and I can see that. Of course he was the one.»

Butch sighed.

«Also», she continued, «you just confirmed it.»

He groaned.

«Bring her to the club», Oswald had told him. «Discretely. And make sure you don’t kill her on the way. I want to have the pleasure.»

And she had heard that. She knew she could drive him nuts and get away with it.

«I really liked you better back when you were sane», he muttered.

«Everyone keeps saying that. I like me better now.»

«Well, that’s the most important thing, I suppose.»

She removed her feet from the dashboard and put them on the seat instead. She fidgeted.

«How far is that club exactly?»

«Not too far», Gilzean replied. «Ten minutes from here or so.»

«We’re near Fifth, aren’t we?»

«Yeah?»

«Can we by any chance drop by a friend’s?»

The henchman gaped for a second.

«I’m sorry, are you under the impression I’m some kind of taxi driver?»

«Come oooon! It will only take a minute, your boss won’t be able to tell!»

«I’m _not_ driving you anywhere but the club. I don’t know if you have noticed, but you’re not exactly wearing city clothes right now», he told her, pointing at her bloodstained uniform. «And I’m not sure you have friends, and I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever murder you might be planning to commit.»

She crossed her arms and started to sulk.

«Are _definitely_ planning to commit», he amended.

 

###

 

Oswald walked into the club, handed his coat to a waiter, then hurried to the basement.

He entered very last room, that commonly served as a holding cell, and slammed the door behind him. He got his knife out. Gilzean, who had been watching Kean, took a step back.

«Hi», the bitch said.

She was sitting on the one chair in the room, a metallic monstrosity adorned with more straps than legs. Her legs were crossed, she was comfortably leaning back, and she was smiling. Cobblepot whirled to Butch.

«Why isn’t she tied up?»

The imbecile cowered, but cleared his throat.

«You told me not to kill her. I’m fairly sure it’s what it would have taken.»

«SHE’S A QUARTER OF YOUR WEIGHT! MAYBE A FIFTH! FULLY CLOTHED! WHAT WAS SHE GOING TO DO TO YOU? TICKLE YOU INTO UNCONSCIOUSNESS?»

The pathetic swine cleared his throat.

«Remember when you pointed out that I should totally have frisked her?» he muttered. «Well I really should have.»

Oswald gaped. Then he slowly, slowly turned to Barbara Kean. She was waving a bloody shank.

«How many of those does she have exactly?» he asked.

«She’s in the room and it’s not polite to talk about her in the third person», the blonde lectured. «And three. I had three. The things you can get away with when you’re awfully nice to the nurses…»

The crime lord stared at her in shock. Then he took a long, shaky breath to calm himself.

«Listen to me very attentively. You are going to drop both knives. Right now. I believe the situation can still be solved in a civilized manner, if we just make the effort of discussing like reasonable, sensible adults.»

«I believe it can be solved by discussing like reasonable, sensible adults, but with me keeping my weapons, frankly.»

Oswald pursed his lips.

«Is that so.»

She gave him a vapid smile.

«Yes.»

He bit the inside of his cheeks so hard he tasted blood, and turned to Gilzean in a slow, jerky motion.

«Just so we are clear», he told the henchman, «I hold you personally responsible for this entire debacle. By the time Zsasz is done with you, you’re going to be looking back fondly to that moment you could have died at miss Kean’s hands, and that moment will be the point _I_ start having my way with you.»

Butch swallowed, face clammy, and his teeth started to chatter.

«I’m sorry, but that sounds highly negative», the bitch cut in.

« _You_. _YOU._ I will cut you apart piece by piece», he hissed. «You will _beg_ for death. You will go through pain more unbearable than you can possibly imagine, and when you get to that point, I’ll make the suffering increase tenfold. And maybe, in some months, if I grow tired of your terrified screams, I will consent to gut you.»

«Actually, I was thinking I could pay my way out of here, then continue a mutually beneficial business relationship where I give you piles of money and you use it to expand your territory and influence, then give me a share of the profits.»

Well, that was unexpected.

«I’m sorry?»

She scratched her cheek with the tip of her knife.

«You _are_ aware I’m Barbara _Kean_ , of _the_ Kean family, and that both my parents - God bless their souls - recently met a violent death at the hands of… Me, I suppose.»

«Of course I’m aware of that», Cobblepot replied by pure reflex.

«Well, the law was not. Not for a few weeks, anyway, which gave me ample time to grasp a fine understanding of my father’s creative accounting practices. I’m glad to say I managed to move most of his concealed funds to a variety of accounts in just about as many fiscal paradises. I’m pretty much sitting on a ton of money.»

He chuckled in disbelief, as it was highly unlikely that the blonde had any understanding of entrepreneurship. Her art gallery had been a pet project where her job’s only requirement was to look pretty in an overpriced dress.

«So what, I’m supposed to let you go, and wait for a check, while you go off and murder James’ girlfriend and her cat?»

«More or less. And mock me all you want, I get the feeling you are not that fond of miss Goody Two Shoes, and would like it entirely better if she was not there to keep Jim grounded.»

«James is a _friend._ I’m not about to release you to wreck havoc on his life because you’re a bit miffed he left you.»

«Miffed.»

«Miffed.»

She studied his face, gritting her teeth in anger. Then she perked up and smiled.

«You know what? You’re right», she announced, pointing at him with the tip of her blade.

«You don’t say.»

She stood and circled the chair.

«There’s a chip on my shoulder», she explained, shrugging. «And it’s big as a boulder. But with the chance I’ve been given, I’m gonna be _driven as HELL._ »

Gilzean made a choked noise, distracting Oswald for a second or so. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the Arkham escapee.

«What you are going to be is careless, vengeful, and eventually dead», he pointed out. «All of that because you’re vexed that Jim doesn’t like you anymore.»

She clicked her tongue and raised both indexes to silence him. She indeed had two knives. The first was in her hand. The second was hidden in her left sleeve, attached to her arm with an elastic band.

«Yes», she said. « _Yes._ »

She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over the chair’s back.

«I’ve been _smiling_ and _sweet_ _»_ , she explained, balling her hands into fists. «And thoroughly _beaten_ » - She scratched her throat along a near invisible scar, where Jason Lennon had cut her - «blowing my chance.»

Butch chuckled. Oswald’s eyes narrowed. He was missing something, but he didn’t know what, and it infuriated him.

Kean circled the chair again and sat down on the very edge of it, crossing her legs and leaning back.

«This chip on my shoulder makes me smarter and bolder», she said with a mean grin. «No more whining or blaming. I’m _reclaiming my pride_. As for Jim? Let’s not chase him away. Let’s face him and say-»

«Hey punk, let’s dance?» Gilzean suggested, earning himself a large smile.

« _Exactly_ », the lunatic replied. She turned to Oswald. «Now, maybe we should talk numbers.»

«I’m listening. What paltry sum do you intend to offer me for your freedom?»

«Two hundred thousand dollars?»

He rolled his eyes.

«Now that’s just plain ridiculous.»

«Four?» she tried, rolling _her_ eyes.

«Still not nearly worth the trouble you got me in, with that little trick with Thompkins. That won’t be fixed with some pocket change.»

«Six, then.»

«I’m starting to believe you really intend to scam me.»

She sighed.

«Now who is being ridiculous? One million. And you better make good use of it.»

The crime lord thought of Victor’s ridiculous quote, and smirked.

«Can you make it two?»

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The song Barbara is ripping off for most of her little speech is "Chip on my shoulder" from the "Legally blonde" musical. Oswald is obviously not well versed in musical romantic comedies. I somehow don't think it's his cup of tea.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exhausted as hell and I'm not managing to write. That's frustrating.

«You okay?» Harvey asked, joining Jim in front of the doors of Gotham General.

The blond was sitting on on the stairs, looking like days old crap.

«Me? I’m fine. It’s Lee you have to worry about.»

Bullock lit a cigarette, ignoring the death stares thrown his way, and sat next to his partner.

«How’s she doin’?»

His friend just breathed in. Selina Kyle picked that moment to saunter to them. She stopped in front of them, hand in her pockets, rocking on her heels.

«Hello, Selina», Jim greeted. Then he turned to Harvey. «Babysitting duty?»

«She was squatting my apartment when I went home.»

«She does that.»

«HEY! _She_ _’s_ right here.»

«Anyway, she’s surprisingly difficult to dislodge», Harvey continued, rubbing his scratched cheek. «And when she saw the news about the attack on Arkham, she had me drive her there like her own personal chauffeur.»

«You were going anyway, jackass», the kid snapped back. «And I just wanted to know what was happening with Barb’.»

Jim stared right through the girl, his face going blank.

«Barbara», he whispered. His voice grew stronger. «Barbara. Well, _Barbara_ let herself be rescued by Penguin’s men, went to his place, and then slit Leslie’s throat.»

Kyle was both unsurprised and unconcerned by the news.

«I take it it didn’t stick, or you wouldn’t be here?»

«No, it didn’t _stick_ », Gordon replied in a carefully empty voice.

«So where is Barbara now?» the girl questioned him.

«I have no idea. No one does. It’s not unlikely Cobblepot killed her. If he has not, well, she escaped, and she must be somewhere, plotting her next attempted murder, maybe.»

Selina rolled her eyes.

«Well whose fault is that?»

Jim froze. Harvey heaved himself up.

«Mind not being an absolute _cunt_ for two seconds?» he shouted.

«Well, I’m _sorry_ , but it’s not like I’m wrong, is it? _WHO_ totally forgot about Barbara and let her be kidnapped by the psycho serial killer he was baiting? _WHO_ didn’t notice she came back all messed up and got all surprised when she tried to stab his girlfriend? And seriously, it’s not like it was hard to notice. Why’d’ya think Ivy and I ran back to the streets and ended up with Fish?»

Gordon stood up and walked back into the hospital, not even bothering to defend himself.

«Oh Jesus _Christ_ », his partner swore, watching him go. «I hope you’re proud of yourself.»

«As a matter of fact? _Yeah_.»

The detective whirled to the girl.

«That was _shitty_. That was plain _shitty_. You didn’t have to kick the guy when he was down.»

She snorted.

« _Right_. Kicking people when they’re down is practically your mantra. You do it all the time!»

«Not to _nice_ people!»

«Well he _deserves_ to be kicked when he’s down, because it’s not like he pays attention the rest of the time! He thinks he’s such a _great_ cop. Jim Gordon, _saving the day_! Plowing through! So what if someone has to escort Bruce away from professional assassins while he blunders around, or if a perfectly _nice_ lady goes crazy? _Saving the day!_ » - She paused to breathe in, jaw clenched shut, then stared straight into Harvey’s eyes. - «He should _know_ how much he fucked up!»

The cop’s anger faded as she spoke, replaced by tiredness.

Jim’s ability to soldier through his failures was both a strength and a blessing, and it made him _him._ Every hospice bill Harvey paid still hit him square in the gut. He still _felt_ how much he had fucked up when he had cost Dix his legs, and he didn’t wish that guilt upon anyone. Not that he dwelled on that too often.

«Are you done?», he asked.

She glared at him with all of the hatred she could gather, which was plenty. Out to fend for herself for years, with nothing and no one to rely on, every adult in her life dead or gone.

«No I’m _not._ I liked Barb’! We were _safe!_ Ivy was not sick anymore! We had food and we had money! And that _idiot_ runs in with that shitty drawing of _some guy_ , because he messed up _again_ , and I’m supposed to feel _sorry_ for him and not tell him things as they are? _NO, I_ _’m not DONE!_ »

Harvey sighed.

«Bitching at him - or capturing him to hand him over to Fish, for that matter - ain’t gonna fix Kean. And it ain’t gonna make you feel any better.»

«DON’T TELL ME HOW I’LL FEEL.»

«WELL THEN FUCK OFF! You knew what you wanted to know! Get the hell out of my sight!»

She stomped away.

 

###

 

«Well my Abra is level fifteen so it’s much better than your Charmander.»

«Yeah but _I_ have a Ninetales so your Abra is just lousy.»

«Well I didn’t cheat to get my Abra!»

«I didn’t cheat to get my Ninetales! Mooooooom!»

Giulia leaned back into the passenger seat and tried to tune out the boys’ bickering. She had not sent them to school since Salvatore’s death, and while she loved her sons, having twins around for such a long period was tiring. The gameboys kept them busy, but unfortunately not silent. She waved to Umberto so he would settle his argument himself.

«Are you alright?» she asked to Montoya, who was driving with a vacant expression on her face.

The undercover cop blinked twice before realizing she was being talked to. She had been pale and withdrawn since the previous day.

«Wh… Yes. Yes, Mrs. Maroni.»

«You look preoccupied.»

«It’s nothing to be concerned about, Mrs. Maroni. A small family matter.»

Giulia studied her face. Her only worry was that the «matter» was work related. But the only notable event of the previous day had been the raid on Arkham Asylum. Her moles in the MCU hadn’t noticed anything strange. Crispus Allen was perfectly fine. As for Montoya’s family, she only had her parents, and their lives seemed unperturbed.

«I hope it resolves itself quickly, then», she replied, turning back to the road.

Her phone rang. She picked up as Montoya turned left.

«Carmine. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours. I was growing wor-»

«Get your driver to turn left.»

The old man’s tone was unmistakable: cold, urgent, and afraid. Giulia turned to Renee, who had gone from dejection to perfect focus. She was peeking in the rear-view mirror, and to the sides of the car. An Audi started following them, coming from the street they had been meant to take, before that sudden left turn.

«We’re being tailed», the cop announced in a whisper, so the children would not hear.

«Boys. Heads down», Giulia ordered, getting her gun.

They complied immediately, sliding down and keeping out of the line of sight, as Sal had taught them to back when they were four. Their mother pressed her phone to her ear.

«Left again», Carmine prompted her.

It was a split second decision. The old bastard was probably sending her right into a trap.

«Left!» she snapped.

Montoya braked and turned, having nearly missed the intersection, then sped.

«What now?», she asked Falcone.

She peeked through the rear-view window. Three cars were chasing them: the Audi, and two nondescript Fords.

«Now you avoid Seventh and Eight, and I’ll tell you all I can as soon as I get more information from my men.»

She repeated the instructions to Montoya, who nodded. She was driving fast, but the streets were not empty and the traffic forced her to swerve and slow down. It made it difficult to escape their pursuers. Maroni clenched her teeth.

«What’s going on?»

«Oswald Cobblepot finally collected enough money to send Zsasz after you. Victor is not one to waste time.»

She swore.

«I told you he would be a thorn in your side, my dear», Carmine pointed out. «You should not have waited to dispose of him.»

«Well, you know how things go. He’s one expensive bastard to take out, and I have territory to maintain.»

«Turn right.»

« _Right!_ »

Montoya turned, barely avoiding gunfire from an approaching truck. A stray bullet shattered a side window.

«I take it it’s a large operation?» Giulia mused.

«Worth a few millions», the retired Don commented. «Cristiano’s demise being bundled in. By the way, where is he? You’d think your best hitman would not leave your side.»

«Unrest in the Bowery, I sent him to handle things.»

«Learn not to separate yourself from your most efficient bodyguard, my dear. Make your way to Port Adams.»

Giulia repeated that to Montoya too. The streets grew quieter as they moved away from the city streets and entered the industrial area. The only vehicles they had to avoid were slow moving trucks. Their car moved faster, but so did their pursuers’. One of the Fords caught up with them. It was driven by one of Zsasz’ girls. The other was in the car too, sitting on the backseat, and aiming at them.

«HEADS DOWN!» Giulia screamed, even though the boys were still burying their faces into their laps.

The assassin started firing. So did Giulia. Zsasz’ sidekick did not make it.

Maroni heard Montoya shout her name and saw her ram the car into the Ford, on purpose. The boys screamed. She felt faint. The cop grabbed her phone.

«Where to?»

There was more ramming of cars, more gunshots, more brutal turns, then the cop drove straight through a warehouse’s open doors. The men waiting inside let them pass, and opened fire on the cars that followed them. Giulia was helped out of her seat. She breathed in and fought the dizziness. Shoulder wound. Some blood loss. Not critical. Her legs were terribly weak all the same.

She turned to the entrance and watched the doors slowly sliding closed. Men were posted on scaffolding along the walls, inside the warehouse, and were shooting outside through arrow slits.

The Audi was parked just out of range. All she saw of the driver was that he was bald, enough to recognize Victor Zsasz.

There was a «clank» as the doors finished closing.

A man joined Giulia, who took a deep breath. _Straight from the frying pan, into the fire._

«So, Carmine, wasn’t Trinidad agreeing with you?»

«Such a bland place. And I couldn’t bear the constant sunburns», he replied, his skin as pale as ever. «Let’s have that shoulder tended to, my dear.»

 

###

 

«You _bought_ me», Butch said.

He’d been driving Barbara around for half an hour with that thought running in circles in his minds.

She had _bought_ him. For one million dollars, to be paid in installments. Which, added to the million she was already shelling out for her own release, made for quite a check. There had been some bartering - enough for Oswald’s face to go from mocking superiority to sheer annoyance - and the woman had made sure to let the crime lord know that the completion of the payment entirely depended on her continued survival. She had given him access to one offshore business and its bank account, but the available funds for that one fell just a little short of the million. Now, for a second, Butch had thought Cobblepot would decide that was just enough money to shoot Kean in the face and be done with it, but the boy was a greedy little bastard. Terms had been discussed, as well as the dates and amounts of the installments to be paid, then Oswald had waited for a few hours (and the proof that he could actually get his hands on the first account) to free her.

At no point had the mob boss picked up on the fact that Kean had been quoting the «Legally Blonde» musical for most of their conversation. Thankfully.

«I did», Barbara commented, reading a fashion magazine she had Butch purchase from the first Walmart they had passed near, along with the jeans and sweater she was now wearing.

«You _bought_ me.»

«I believe I just confirmed that.»

«Yes. I just don’t think you get what I mean, lady.»

«What is there to understand? I needed a sidekick, and Cobblepot was ready to let you go, not necessarily in one piece. And you are funny. So I bought you.»

«That’s still not what I mean. You seem to think that you can actually _buy_ people.»

«Yes?»

«You _can_ _’t_ actually buy people.»

«Was there any hope that the crazy little creep would ever let you go _alive_?»

«Not really but-»

«Where you obeying him blindly?»

«That’s-»

«Then he owned you. And he could sell you. Now turn left.»

He turned left.

«So is this some kind of indentured servitude or a permanent slavery deal? Just so I know.»

«Are you going to nag me for much longer? I _can_ get a refund, you know?»

He groaned.

«Second street on the right», she said.

Butch followed her directions for another quarter of an hour, finally stopping in front of a small house in suburbia, right out of Gotham, in a world of white picket fences and HOAs. Barbara got out of the car and went to ring the house’s doorbell. Her «sidekick» joined her, not quite hurrying his pace. A man opened the door, recognized Kean, and hugged her.

«Hey, Jaimie!» she greeted him. «You still have my things?»

«Your suitcases? Yep, in the attic. Come on in! Who’s your friend?»

«New driver», she replied, walking through the door.

She motioned for Butch to follow, which he did. Apparently she had friends who did not _mind_ that she had turned into a murderous lunatic. That was a surprise.

«Want to buy anything while you’re here?» Jaimie asked.

«No, no, I’m trying to get clean. You know how it goes. You really don’t want to mix and match when you’re on meds.»

«Aw, that sucks. Want coffee?»

«Coffee would be nice, thank you.»

They were invited to sit in the kitchen and served coffee, then Jaimie went to fetch two large suitcases from the attic.

«So, you orchestrated your own escape or something?» the dealer wondered. «I saw you on TV, they say you were abducted.»

«I was abducted, then helped out. And I really don’t feel like going back», Barbara explained, opening one of the suitcases and retrieving a pair of sandals.

She promptly removed the sneakers Butch had bought for her and stuffed them in the suitcases, under piles of neatly folded clothing.

«Yeah, I hear the place is creepy as hell. Are you getting out of town?»

The blonde took a sip of her coffee.

«Absolutely. I was thinking Spain, or maybe Venice. I’ve always wanted to visit Venice.»

She finished her cup and quietly put it down.

«But we can’t stay», she continued. «Though it was very nice to see you again. I have a train to catch in an hour.»

She turned to Butch, extending her hand.

«Wallet?»

He stared at her. She waited, lifting her eyebrows. He handed her his wallet. She took out two hundred bucks and gave them to Jaimie.

«Thanks again for storing my things. You were a life saver.»

«You’re welcome. Good luck to you.»

Butch and Barbara left the house and drove away from the suburbs, the woman’s only instructions being «find me a safe house». He knew better than to argue. Oh, he could have pointed out that safe houses required a modicum of preparation, and that he was not miraculously going to pull one out of his hat, but he had understood by then that the less time you spent talking to Barbara Kean, the saner you remained. And he happened to have a few safe houses in town, anyway. With Fish’s temper and constant plotting, it had just been common sense to prepare a few hideouts.

He brought miss Crazypants to the same building he had brought Fish to after rescuing her from that torture room, to the same tiny, cramped room. He felt ill as soon as he entered the place, memories flooding in. Remembering Fish gave him cold sweats, now. There was still longing, of course, but her name was tied to the stench of Dettol and to unbearable pain.

Barbara pushed him out of the way to drag her suitcases into the room, and opened them. She threw shirts and dresses on the bed, pêle-mêle, digging for something more to her taste.

«So what do you think?» she asked, showing him to fairly similar black dresses. «Which one would look best?»

He picked one at random. His opinion did not matter. It had not mattered to Fish either, in similar situations.

«That one.»

She beamed.

«I think so too!» she declared, stripping out of her sweater and pants.

Butch had never turned away from a woman so fast in his life. He stared at the wall, listening to the sounds of ruffled fabric.

«Can’t believe you dragged me on a two hours ride to go and get some old clothes», he muttered, as a distraction more than anything.

He could absolutely believe it. Could she have bought new dresses? Weren’t the outfits replaceable? Ten years by Fish’s side had taught him the answer to those questions. Barbara walked to him, poking his shoulder. She clicked her tongue and made him turn.

«What do you think?»

The dress managed to be at once entirely slutty and not trashy at all. It couldn’t have been cut shorter, nor more elegantly. It was a strange mix, the kind that came with really expensive designer clothing.

«Nice», he replied, neutral.

That was not the answer she had wanted. She took a step back, clenching her teeth. Butch wondered where her blades were. He felt like escaping.

He could overpower her and run, but Zsasz would find him. Oswald would notice quickly enough he was not getting his money. He closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts away.

She grabbed his tie.

«Can I see your scars?» she asked, prying the knot loose.

Butch jumped away, blind with fury. He was an easygoing guy. He _was_. You had to go out of your way to shake him into more than lukewarm annoyance. But _that_ …

«Your so-called one million dollar ‘purchase’ does not entitle you to my dignity», he hissed.

She looked up in surprise. He expected a «it does». For all intents and purposes, it _did_. But she blinked, shook her head, and smiled.

«I just… I just want to _see_ », she explained, pulling his necktie away and opening the first button of his shirt.

He let her undo the others, watching her in disgust. If she noticed he was shaking with rage, she made no comment. She opened his shirt and grinned, looking at his scarred, burnt, mangled skin. Her fingers hovered over his chest, tracing but not touching the outlines of his worst wounds. He bit the inside of his cheeks. She was studying the damage. She wanted to figure out what had been done to him, so she could try it herself.

She scratched a patch of burned flesh. Butch had to fight the knee-jerk reaction of slapping her. He grabbed her wrist instead.

«Lady, do you _want_ me to hurt you?» he growled.

Her smile flickered between defiant and lost, while never leaving the territory of «crazy». Gilzean’s rage vanished as he realized that _yes_ , she wanted him to. It was exactly what she was looking for. She was messed up enough that she was _hoping_ for it. He just couldn’t be angry at that, it was too pathetic. He could feel pity, though, tons of it. It was the kind of things that got to him, the psychological damage, the trauma. He could kill someone in cold blood and not lose any sleep. He could abduct, beat up, and torture, and not feel overly concerned about it. He did not delude himself into thinking that his living victims had left his care in perfect mental condition. Some PTSD, he figured. Some bad dreams. Some anxiety. Maybe the occasional case of alcoholism and drug addiction. But he didn’t think he had ever _erased_ someone, that he had ever scrambled their marbles so bad that their concept of normalcy had flipped.

She tried to free her right hand, failed, and slapped him with the left one. He endured the stinging and grabbed that hand too. So she started kicking him, and he pulled her to him, holding her close so she could not hurt him. She still headbutted him and stomped on his feet. When that failed to make him snap, she changed tactics. She smiled - a nasty, chilling thing - and started moving against him, ever so slightly grinding their hips together.

That was the kind of game she was pretty good at winning.

 

###


	17. Chapter 17

Oswald tapped his fingers on his desk.

«What, pray tell, is so complicated about murdering a stay-at-home mom and her two seven years old? You disappoint me. Oh, it’s not just that you disappoint me: I’m thoroughly baffled by your astonishingly unlikely failure. I even went out of my way to keep Cristiano busy!»

Victor paced, nervously playing with his rings.

«You have a mole», he snapped. «She was warned. And not just warned! There was a full blown rescue team prepared to extract her! I had vehicles on _every_ street. _EVERY STREET!_ And what happened? Several of those cars were blocked, attacked, and taken out. Right as the target arrived on location. So _someone_ snitched.»

Oswald stared at him.

«Has it occurred to you that the most likely culprit would be one of your men? They were privy to your plan.»

« _You_ were privy to the plan!»

«And we both know I didn’t go and protect the bitch. So it has to be someone else, and I assure you my hiring process is very strict. So, again, it has to be one of your men.»

Zsasz stopped pacing, and walked to the desk, leaning forward until his face was nearly touching Oswald’s.

«It is not one of my men», he repeated.

The crime lord moved back, ill at ease.

«Very well. It’s an absolute mystery. What did you manage to extract from the warehouse?»

«Nothing. As I told you, several trucks left it, and I couldn’t gather a new team quickly enough to follow them, especially since the trucks were defended and opened fire on us. All that was left in the building was Giulia’s car.»

«And, of course, we don’t know where she found refuge after that. She did not resurface. She was not seen at her house. My spies in her lieutenant’s employs say the lieutenants have not been able to contact her.»

Oswald mused on that. Giulia’s absence could have been a very nice opportunity to attempt to take over some of her holdings, but it was very likely that she was merely holed up in some safe house, monitoring the city. Her remaining lieutenants were also able to hold their own. No, there was no way to salvage the catastrophic events of the day. He whirled in his chair, stood, and walked to the window, turning his back to Victor.

«The contract is still on and I expect you to complete it. Find her.»

There was a lengthy pause.

«Find your mole», the hitman replied. «You will receive _no_ information on my plans until you do.»

 

###

 

«We’re getting burgers», Harvey announced when Jim picked up his ringing phone. «You and the lady and, apparently, my lady. I’m picking you up in half an hour.»

Jim blinked. He had not heard of Harvey since Leslie had left the hospital, three days before, and they had spent that time holed up in her apartment. Jim did not want to leave her alone with Barbara on the loose, and she was still shaken by her abduction. He had cooked and ordered in so she would not have to use her hand for that, but every motion caused her pain, and every gesture brought her attention back to her maimed finger.

She only allowed herself to collapse in private: when Jim was out to get groceries, or alone in the bathroom. She spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. Jim spent an inordinate amount of time sitting in front of her apartment door with bags of fresh food, because it was clear by that point that Lee did not want him around, but he could not leave her unprotected. She had been abducted at the orders of a _cop_ , and even if Flass was dead, what did it say about the force? No one else could keep watch.

Jim was not sure she’d be up for an evening out.

«You have a _lady_?» he asked, rather than giving a direct answer.

«Yeah, I have a _lady_ , which you’d know if you’d bothered asking.»

«I think you gave me leave to never ask when you said your love life was a short and nasty open book.»

«The crap you extract from casual conversation baffles me.»

«So what’s her name?»

«You’ll have to come and ask you herself, asshat. That’ll teach you.»

«I’ll see if Lee is interested. I’ll call you back!»

Forty-five minutes later, Jim and Leslie made their way to the closest burger joint, a block away. The cop felt paranoid, and his eyes kept scanning the crowd for any sign of blond hair. Barbara had tried to kill Leslie twice. He didn’t put it past her to try again. Cobblepot had not found her, and her body had not - as he had expected it to - washed up on the riverside. Then again, half of what sank into those waters never surfaced again, so _maybe_ she had been killed and disposed off. It would have been a re-.

He caught himself before he finished that thought.

His mind wasn’t at rest. He kept picturing what would happen if Barbara _did_ appear. Maybe she was hiding in plain sight under a hooded coat and would stab Lee as she passed next to them. Maybe she would just slip out of some dark corner an point a gun at Jim’s face. In both scenarios, he could see her large, crazy grin.

«Hey!», Harvey called as they arrived. «Look who’s _finally_ here»

He was waiting in front of the dinner’s doors, and waving to them.

Jim grinned, then froze as he recognized the redhead standing next to his partner.

«Oh my god», he gasped. Then he turned to Bullock. «You jackass! You didn’t say anything! Why didn’t you say anything?»

He ignored the man’s grin and his «Didn’t hear you asking!» and turned to Scottie Mullens, composing himself.

«Miss Mullens, I’m glad to see you again.»

She laughed, greeted him, then let herself be introduced to Lee. Once that was done, she turned to Harvey.

«You really didn’t say anything?»

«And miss _that_ look on his face? Hell, no.»

«You’re an ass», she replied, chuckling. «Did I ever tell you you were an ass?»

«Several variations of it. I might even start to believe you. So! I’m starving! Who is starving?»

They walked into the dinner, picked a table and ordered. Leslie didn’t even pause to consider, and asked for fries and chicken nuggets. She usually favored cheeseburgers, but nuggets only required one hand. The thought turned Jim’s stomach, but tried to put it out of his mind as Harvey started regaling them with gossip on the GCPD (among other things, Miss Kringle had eloped with her boyfriend, officer Dougherty, and no one had any clear idea of how to find anything in her records). The mood grew cheerier.

Jim quickly gathered the invitation had been an ambush of sorts, as Scottie and Leslie had quite a few things in common, starting with «working with the mentally ill», and ending with «having been brutally abducted». The two of them clicked. Scottie had a lot of stories to share, both from her job as a career counselor and her years running her support group.

«Let’s face it, I’m way more scared of pools than I am of serial killers, so I wasn’t about to close shop», she explained when Leslie expressed surprise at her not giving up after Crane’s attack. «And I want to swim again someday, so I’m not giving up.»

«Wasn’t it hard?» Lee asked with mild curiosity, as if making small talk.

She still touched the bandage on her fingers, hands shaking. Scottie smiled.

«Therapy will do wonders - I _know_ , Harvey, you don’t believe in therapy.»

«I haven’t said nothing!», Bullock replied, faking indignation.

«As I was saying… Wonders. My therapist is amazing, a specialist in trauma counseling, I’ve known her years. She worked closely with a few of the people from my group. Amazing lady.»

«I… I’d like her number, if you think she might be available. I’ve been looking for someone I could talk to.»

Jim did his best not to stare in wonder. Scottie was working magic.

Instead, he turned to Harvey, smiled, and mimed and mouthed his thoughts.

«How did you manage _this?_ Entirely too good for you!» he teased, subtly pointing to Scottie.

His partner grinned and wrapped an arm around her, beaming with pride. She paused in her discussion, gave him a cheeky smile and a kiss, then resumed talking to Leslie.

Jim and Harvey didn’t quite need to fill each second with words, so they ate in comfortable silence, with the odd remark about the food. Every now and then, the dinner’s door opened and people streamed in, and both their hands inched towards their guns, though they had not discussed Barbara.

 

###

 

«So, what do you think?» Mrs. Valentine asked. «He’s handsome, isn’t he?»

Nate took a sip of his soda and kept the straw right next to his mouth, pretending to be focused on the drink.

«I don’t know», he commented of the man he’d been ordered to observe. «He seems fairly depressed to me. You might want - maybe - someone with a more cheerful disposition. Especially with David not being in top shape at the moment.»

Gordon was the gloomiest of his group of four, and the most reserved. The redhead and her husband were very cheerful, and the brunette was a bit withdrawn, but Jim Gordon was just dark, and tense, and never quite relaxed, even when he laughed.

Mrs. Valentine clicked her tongue.

«Nonsense. He’s a soldier. Well, a cop, but you know what I mean. A soldier at heart. He is a war hero, did I tell you? And he caught the Electrocutioner. It was on TV.»

«I’m sorry, Mrs. Valentine. I must not have been paying attention.»

«I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a while now», the old lady said, stabbing her salad (her heart could not take burgers anymore, she had announced as they ordered). «He’s a real hero. The _one_ good cop in Gotham. He went after that serial killer the police would not touch, too. The _Ogre_ , who murdered all of those poor girls.»

Nate did not stab her through the throat with his fork, but only because Shawn would have died in the crazy woman’s basement. Bashing her skull in would only mean she wouldn’t be there to input the secret code that reset the timer on their necklaces every day. It would slowly count down to zero - eighty-six thousand four hundred hundred seconds at reset - and then detonate the bombs. No one could disarm the damn things. Those who had tried had ended up a gory mess for Nate to clean up.

«Do you intend to bring him in today?» he asked.

His jailer shook her head.

«I don’t know who to pair him with yet, and I don’t want him to be bored for days like David was before I found him Sabrina. It’s just too much work bringing the unmatched party out, and having him interact with random women until I spot one who clicks. No. I’d rather observe him, see if he has chemistry with someone… Though I’ll admit, the redhead is a nice surprise. She’s sparkly.»

«They both have significant others», Nate pointed out in an empty voice.

It didn’t matter to Valentine. He wondered, every now and then, if his wife had remarried. It was more than likely after so many years. Hell, their daughter was nearly out of elementary school.

« _Yes_ », Mrs. Valentine spat back with indignation. «And what horrible choices they have made. That… Girl, that Leslie? She is so _bland_. No spine, no personality… And mangled, too. Didn’t you hear them talk about an amputation?»

Nate had not. The old bitch had a much better hearing than his, which was surprising, considering her age. He shook his head.

«And that beautiful red haired girl?», Valentine continued. «She can do so much better than that crude, dirty swine of a man.»

«If you say so, Mrs. Valentine.»

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have entirely too many plotlines in this story @_@ . 17 chapters to finally somehow connect the main case to the story. 
> 
> Also, I long to write a funny scene again, damnit.


	18. Chapter 18

As far as life advice went, one of the most sensible, important tips was «don’t stick your dick in crazy». It was a good rule, if only because if you _did_ stick your dick in crazy, you could not be sure you would get it back. More generally, it ended in a mess in eleven out of ten cases. Butch liked sensible life advice. He tried to follow common sense in most of his decisions, when common sense applied (which was rarely). He had been known to slip. Among other things, he had joined the Mafia. And followed Fish Mooney for more than a decade. And killed a few people. And if Fish had admitted to returning his feelings more than five minutes before her demise, he would have thrown caution to the winds and stuck his dick in crazy with reckless abandon.

All things considered, maybe he wasn't that good at decision making. So it was a good thing that Barbara was so certifiably insane that he did not feel the compulsion to accept her advances. Not too much. She _was_ laying it on quite thick. But he had the distinct feeling that attempting to sleep with Kean would have been akin to throwing one's soul into a blender and expecting to get it out intact. She did not want _sex_. She wanted to find some button to push you over the edge so you would pay her a visit in Crazy Land. It was all a creepy, sick power game, and Butch wanted no part of it. His cock was not always in perfect agreement, but so far his brains had remained firmly in control. It helped that her mood swings were bad enough that you knew saying yes could get you stabbed in the face.

Her brand of crazy was hard to pinpoint. Bipolars swayed between mania and depression. That was their thing. If he had to coin a term here, he'd have aimed for «multipolar», what with not being a psychiatrist or anything. She could be all nice and elegant and polite and ladylike, only to start sulking like a four years old for reasons that made no sense at all. Then she would flip and physically attack you, be it with her fists or knives (it had led to her taking a chair to the face, as the sanest reaction against a knife-wielder was not to let them within arm’s reach). Or she would quote Dead or Alive - «All I know is that to me, you look like you're lots of fun, open up your lovin' arms» and all that jazz - and _flirt_ like you wouldn’t believe. She could also go blank and vacant and lost, talking like a little child. Or, most of the time, she went into full «this is hilarious», «no fucks given» mode, which was the worst of all because it drove you _insane_.

The song lyrics thing was weird. Funny, but weird.

Butch could not figure out what her plans were. He was not sure she _had_ plans beyond the next day. There was some «attempt to murder Jim Gordon’s loved ones» on the horizon, but nothing expressly defined. She was «considering her options», or so she said. Mostly, they spent their days reading magazines in their hideout, and Butch was sent to get bio salads and smoothies at random intervals. When Kean actually tried to organize something, it seemed to have freshly popped out of her mind.

«Hey, can you find me some men?» she asked one day, from her cushion fort on the bed, in the middle of a 16 and pregnant episode.

«Probably. Depends. What for?»

«Criminal activities.»

«Well that really clarifies matters. I’ll post a classified and let you sort through the resumes.»

«Now come on, don’t be difficult. I thought ‘henchmen’ jobs required versatility.»

«Lady. Different jobs require different skill sets and, more importantly, different salaries. So what do you want to do? Steal things? Kill people? Rob places?»

«All of the above? Maybe?»

«Pick one!»

«Are you somehow unable to get men for one of those activities?»

«Huh, no?»

«THEN STOP BEING DIFFICULT AND JUST SAY YES!»

He groaned.

«Yeah, I suppose I can get you men.»

She jumped out of bed and stole his phone, then made a call and started pacing, waiting for the other side to pick up. It took twenty seconds. By that point, she was standing on the bed and bouncing into place. She dropped down in lotus position as soon as someone replied.

«Hi, Paul! This is Barbara, Barbara Kean! I have a business proposal for you. I believe you’ll reeeeally like it.»

Three hours later, they met «Paul» in the woods right behind his mansion. The man - a forty-something in an Armani suit - was accompanied by two bodyguards, and kept a sane distance between himself and Barbara.

«Barbara. I’ll have to admit, your call came as a surprise. I was under the impression you were on the run after your escape from Arkham Asylum.»

She gave him a polite, warm smile.

«I wouldn’t say on the run. I fully intend to stay in Gotham. I grew up here. You know how difficult it is to leave your home.»

«Yes, of course. Now, from the news I have heard… Were you really committed because you murdered your parents?»

«I’m afraid that’s true. We just couldn’t see eye to eye.»

«Well, I suppose I’m mostly surprised that it took you so long.»

Butch choked at that. Paul turned to him, unfazed.

«I take it you never met Miss Kean’s parents?»

«Haven’t had the pleasure», Gilzean replied, stunned.

Paul chuckled and turned back to Barbara.

«What brings you? I’ll admit, I’m curious about that business proposal.»

«I’ll be direct. Is your prenup still preventing you from getting that divorce?»

Paul stared at her, lips pinched. He mulled over her words, then relaxed.

«You weren’t kidding when you said ‘direct’, were you? How does that relate to business?»

«I thought you might be in need of some assistance to extract some valuables from your home, and exchange them for sixty percent of their value in cash. The Picasso comes to mind.»

«Just so we are clear. When you say ‘extract’, you mean ‘steal’, right?»

«I think the exact terms would be ‘armed robbery’, if I’m not mistaken, but I’m not yet up to date on criminal terminology.»

Butch stared at her. So she _had_ a plan. And it was not absolutely insane either. He could picture it: raiding the mansion, walking out with one or two master painting and whatever wasn’t nailed down on the way. It wouldn’t be easy - that kind of place came with guards - but it would not be _impossible_. About the same odds as a bank heist, really, minus the terrified civilians. The place was out of town, too, which meant a slower response time from the cops. Also, if one of the residents were to inform the team of the guards’ routine, things could go very smoothly.

Paul crossed his arms.

«How am I supposed to trust you not to vanish with the paintings?»

Barbara lifted her eyebrows.

«It would greatly hinder my future as a fence, really, seeing how you would immediately tell the cops that I contacted you about a ‘purchase’ or something equally _not_ incriminating for you.»

«Not nearly convincing enough», her potential customer replied.

She smiled.

«It makes no difference to you, does it? You won’t see a dime of the value of those paintings if Janet leaves you, and we both know you’re grasping at straws to keep your relationship together. At _worst_ , I vanish with the Picasso. What is it to you? Janet will be the one inconvenienced. You lose nothing.»

«At worst you get caught and you accuse me of helping you out.»

She started laughing and did not quite stop. After a few moments, she waved her hand and wiped her eyes.

«I’m a _lunatic_ », she pointed out. «Certifiably insane. Can’t stand trial. A whole team of doctors agreed. I could accuse you, and so _what_? No one would believe me.»

Paul studied her face. Butch studied his. The man was convinced.

 

###

 

Dollmaker had not lied about the pain. Once the meds had worn off - and that had been right after he had sewn her torn stitches back together - she had started to feel it.

It was bad. It was awful when she breathed. It was worse when she moved. Not that she moved a lot, being strapped to her bed. But it was bad even when the only thing she did was stare at Liza on the ceiling’s mirror. She could feel every suture, and they numbered in the thousands.

The pain, she could take. She was not about to brag that she could endure any kind of torture, but she was tougher than most. She had never had a choice in the matter. Life, lemons, lemonade. What she could not stomach was the inaction. She could not free herself (God knew she had tried, and it had only gotten her stitches to reopen). Thus, she could not get out of bed, she could not bash the Dollmaker’s face in when he visited, and she could not attempt to escape. Which was infuriating, as she knew the door was not even locked. She had no idea how long she had spent in the room either. There was no night and day, the walls were mirrors from floor to ceiling, without a single window. No clocks. Her meals seemed to be brought every four hours, if she had counted right, but she couldn’t match the nurses’ visits to a specific hour.

She was going crazy with rage.

The only thing she could do was insult Dulmacher when he joined her, and it would have sounded so pathetic that she mostly kept silent. She still ground her teeth every time the door opened.

That day, she turned her head expecting to find herself face to face with her jailer. She had to look down by a few heads.

«Hi», said the seven years old brown skinned boy who had pushed the door open.

She blinked.

«Hello?»

Now what was a _child_ doing there?

He was wearing a hospital gown and plastic slippers. His arms were covered with needle marks.

«Have you seen my brother?» he asked. «The nurses say he’s in another room but I can’t find him.»

«I don’t know», Fish replied. «What does your brother look like?»

The boy rocked on his heels and walked to her.

«Like me», he announced. «But bigger. Like this.»

He waved his hand ten inches above his head.

«I don’t think I’ve seen him. What’s your name?»

«Why are you all tied up?»

«So I don’t turn while I sleep. I have _stitches_ », she said, thankful that her bandages were covering enough for the boy not to see the horrors underneath.

«I have stitches too», he said, taping his belly. «I had appendicitis.»

Appendicitis seemed a bit too common for Dulmacher’s skills. What had the boy received? A kidney? A liver?

«Did you?»

«Yep. You have a lot of scars.»

«I _do_ , as a matter of fact. So. You still didn’t tell me your name.»

«I’m Calvin.»

«Like Calvin and Hobbes?»

He glared at her. He clearly had heard that before.

«Ah well, what’s in a name? I’m _Fish_ », she replied.

«You’re serious?»

«No, not Sirius. _Fish_.»

The boy stared at her.

«That wasn’t funny at all.»

«They removed my funny bone.»

Calvin stared.

«Alright, I’m done attempting to joke», Fish promised. «Have you been here long? Where are your parents?»

«Mom’s in Gotham, I think. The city people came and took us away because she was… Ill. And me and my brother we had appendicitis, so we had to come here to get surgery. But doctor Dulmacher says I have a case of complications and I have to stay a bit longer.»

Fish felt the blood drain from her face. The kid was not a patient. He was a donor. And so was his brother, if she had to guess.

«So when did you arrive?»

«I dunno. Weeeeeks. I think. There’s no school, so I don’t know.»

«And your brother? When did you see him last?»

«I dunno. I should go search, too! Before someone sees I’m gone. The nurses are going to be angry at me.»

«You’re not supposed to get out of your room?»

«Nah. I have needle things and tubes I’m not _allowed_ to remove.»

«Like mine?» Fish said, pointing at her own catheters with her chin.

«Yeah.»

«I’m not sure you should remove those.»

«It’s okay, I’m not ill or anything», Calvin told her as he ran back to the door. «Want me to close this?»

She stared. She did not want him to _go_.

«Yes, please. You should go back to your room», she replied.

He was never going to find his brother. She could have bet her life on it.

«After I find Logan.»

«Before the nurses find you! And you didn’t come here, alright? You’d get in trouble. I’m not supposed to see people», she explained with a wink. «I catch people’s colds and bugs all the time.»

«D’you? I haven’t made you sick, have I?»

«Not a chance. You look very healthy to me. But you know the nurses. They’re _strict_.»

The boy swallowed.

«Yeah. I won’t tell», he muttered. «Uh, get well soon?»

«I will, I will. You too!»

«Yep! Bye!»

And, just like that, he closed the door and trotted away.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I longed to write a funny scene. Thank god for Butch.
> 
> Also, more Fish! :D


	19. Chapter 19

Jim tried to sort through the mess on his desk, all of it entirely owed to Harvey’s efforts. His partner had attempted to investigate their cases on his own during Jim’s absence, and since he had worked for two, he had spread his personal space accordingly. There were files everywhere, notes to go with them, and the occasional candy wrapper.

It was clear the man had applied himself to the job. Unfortunately, he had found very little, be it on the Stephenson case or the Dollmaker’s (the one he had clearly favored). He had also investigated a few leads on the six cold cases Essen had given them, but with no results. No ID on the Asian male whose body had been found with shrapnel wounds similar to Delores’. The list of criminals with bomb-making skills was fifteen pages long, and that was for the ones who were not currently in prison, and were supposed to live in Gotham. Still, they had two bodies possibly connected to the same killer, and Jim had hoped they would find _something_ that linked them. The more they dug, the more it looked like Delores would end up another cold case among Gotham’s thousands.

He was piling up all of the research on her murder and abduction when Nygma walked to him.

«Detective Collins’ new case might be related to yours», he announced, sharply.

Jim looked up. Ed bit the inside of his cheeks.

«W-what-» he started. «What is-»

He stopped himself again, closing his eyes to focus.

«The body of a young woman was found cut in pieces and buried in various parts of the woods, south of the city. Now, the ME doesn’t have all the pieces yet - the head still has to be found, among other things - but shrapnel was removed from a shoulder and an arm. You m-may want to see with detective Collins.»

Jim stared at him. He was so tense he was shaking, teeth clenched in anger. His hands were balled into fists.

«Ed… Are you _alright_?» the cop asked, worried.

«ImallrightI’mjust _trying_ to make some _efforts_ here!»

«Efforts?»

«With the _silly_ riddles _thing_ », Nygma hissed. «I’ve had _comments_.»

Jim cautiously leaned forward. He had always thought the young man was quirky. His blurting out riddles could get mildly annoying, but the cop had never really paid attention to them. It had never occurred to him that they could be not merely a passion, but an actual compulsion Nygma suffered of. He had no idea what to say, but tried all the same.

«Hey. I… You… I mean, I was always okay with the riddles. I don’t mind them at all. Now, if _you_ mind them and want to stop… That’s fine, but don’t stress yourself over it. It’s okay.»

Ed ground his teeth and didn’t answer, but his eyes shot daggers. Jim moved back, hesitating. The scientist took a deep breath, then his eyes strayed to Jim’s desk. His arm shook as if restraining a punch.

«W-what…»

He hit his leg with his balled fist.

«W-what - justshutpshutup - _what_ starts with ‘e’ and ends with ‘e’ and contains one letter?» he recited.

Jim stared at him. Ed didn’t want an answer to that. What he clearly wanted was to never have uttered the question. He ran a hand through his hair, face twisted in self-loathing. The cop tried to take his hand.

«Ed…»

«An _envelope!_ » the scientist snapped, gesturing at a white rectangle on Jim’s desk.

Then he all but ran away, in long, fast strides. The blond only paused for a second before giving chase. He caught up with Nygma in the records annex. The man was hunched against a sorting cabinet. You couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying.

«Hey», Jim murmured when he managed to compose himself and stand up straight.

Ed pursed his lips.

«Another beautiful show by _riddleman_!» he railed, face twisted in a rictus.

«C’mon. I swear it isn’t as bad as you think.»

«Well I don’t know, _detective_. How about we switch places so you can confirm? Wouldn’t that be _hilarious_? Oh, look, it’s Jim Gordon. He’s so _weird_.»

Jim sighed.

«I know it’s not nearly the same, but I’ve had the odd complaint about anger management. And being an ass. And for what it’s worth, if we were to switch places, I’d be totally overwhelmed by suddenly being smart.»

«My, aren’t you funny today! I guess a case of the ‘smart’ _would_ be a life-altering event for you, but you could achieve that by trading places with a chimpanzee. No offense.»

Jim swallowed, frozen, the mean look on Edward’s face reminding him of Barbara for an instant. But Ed was just hurt and lashing out.

«Come on… I didn’t mean… I mean, if you don’t feel that good.. Maybe we could grab a drink this evening? I don’t promise I’m a good conversationalist, but I think I can manage proper crime scene discussions.»

«A drink.»

«Yeah? Maybe with Harvey, if he’s free?»

Ed chuckled, then pursed his lips and grew serious.

«Does it look like I’m in need of your _pity_ , detective?» he replied, walking to the exit.

He slammed the door as he left.

Jim stood alone for nearly five minutes, wondering when and how he could apologize, or if it was a better idea to leave the scientist alone. He didn’t manage to find an answer.

He pushed the matter out of his mind and went to Collins instead, to confirm the results of his victim’s autopsy. There was indeed shrapnel, though there was no neck nor head to check for injuries similar to Delores Stephenson’s. Collins was more or less certain of the identity of the woman. Her hair type and coloring matched those of a recently reported missing Hispanic girl, as well as some moles and scars on the recognizable body parts. Her name was Sabrina Bakerton, a young coffee shop employee who had - as far as her family knew - left her apartment and fiancee on a whim, vanishing with her clothes and her cat so she could get a «break». She had sent an email to her mother, from her home computer, to tell her she would be staying in a motel for a few weeks as she reconsidered her relationship with her boyfriend. Two weeks later, they had received her suicide note by post. They had already reported her missing by that point.

It was exactly like Delores Stephenson. A fake trip, fake correspondence, and a violent death days after that.

He ran back to his desk to share the news with Harvey.

«We have a serial», he announced. «New girl, kept for days, our abductor sent messages to her family so they would think she was traveling. Collins-»

«Wait, wait, let me fetch the cap’, I have a feeling you’re going to be repeating it all.»

Jim nodded and watched him walk into Sarah’s office. He turned away, looking down at his desk, and spotted the envelope that had caused the whole scene with Edward. It was addressed to him, but there was no stamp, so someone had deposited it in person.

He opened it. News clippings fell out of it, along with a post it. He spread them out in front of him, going pale as he recognized articles on the vigilante killing that had exposed his and Harvey’s failed case. A short message was scribbled on the post it.

«You got out of it this time, but it’s not the only time you fucked up», it said. «The next time I nail you, you won’t be that lucky.»

 

###

 

The plan was simple.

Butch had hired twelve men. Paul’s wife, Janet, was to get out of their mansion at half past five to go to her yoga session, leaving the place to their guards. Paul had provided floor plans, on which he had drawn the patrol paths, the location of the security cameras, and the emplacement of every armored door. He had also informed them of the brand and model of said doors, which had put the locksmith of the team in an extremely good mood. The vault in itself would prove a bit more difficult to open, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with explosives. They knew how fast the police and security firm reinforcements would arrive. They knew how many guards were on location. The heist would be easy as pie.

Barbara had insisted to be present, to ensure the paintings wouldn’t be damaged during the operation, and there had been some arguing about that. Butch didn’t want her there - really - but she had a point about knowing her shit on how to move priceless art without ruining it. They had agreed on letting her join the team once the mansion was secured and the vault open. In the meantime, the two of them would be waiting in one of their three vans.

At twenty-five past five, the team started moving into position, their men getting ready to take out the patrols as soon as Janet would be gone.

At twenty-six past five, Barbara pulled out her disposable phone and gave a call.

Gilzean saw her smile and knew they were fucked. He didn’t even have to wait for her to speak.

A woman replied: he could recognize a female voice in the faint echoes he heard from his seat.

«Hello. This is _Samantha_ », Kean announced. «Oh, don’t you play that game. We both know full well you know who I am.»

Butch gestured to her.

«What are you _doing_?» he mouthed.

«Like _hell_ you don’t see. Well, keep pretending if you want. I was just calling you to tell you what you are doing to Paul is _pathetic_.» - She paused and listened to the answer. - «Oh, come on, _Janet_. Threatening suicide so he won’t leave you? That’s just _sick_.»

 _Janet_. Janet. _JANET._ Butch was going to kill her.

She kept arguing on the phone, defending a three years old affair, a child on the way, and the reasons why bitter wives who threatened suicide to keep their husbands should maybe act on said threats. Their team waited, waited some more, then realized the lady of the house would _not_ go to yoga after all. Butch was asked if Janet was an acceptable casualty. Barbara grinned to him and nodded, then walked out of the van.

He confirmed that Janet was disposable and followed Barbara out. She quietly walked up to the mansion, listening to their men’s progress on a talkie-walkie in one ear, and to her interlocutor’s screaming in the other. By that point, she barely had to reply to Janet. She snapped back a few insults as she walked up to the mansion, but Butch could distinctly hear the constant, hysterical shouting of Paul’s wife from her phone, even from two steps away.

When they passed the doors of the house, it had been secured, the guards dead or unconscious. You could hear screaming from upstairs - «I will sue you, I will destroy you, you whore» - but the first floor was silent. The assault had gone well, as stealth had been the strategy, and Janet was not aware there were intruders.

Barbara hung up and made her way upstairs. Butch followed her, swearing to himself that he would strangle her later. The sooner, the better.

Locating Janet’s bedroom proved easy. The noise of broken glass and upturned furniture gave it away. And the swears. Kean knocked on the door and promptly entered. Janet stared at her, frozen into place. She was still holding an ivory statuette she’d been ready to throw at the wall.

«Hi!» Barbara said with her best smile.

Paul’s wife blinked.

«Miss Kean?»

«Yes. Now, I have to start by an apology. There’s no Samantha. She doesn’t exist. I don’t even think Paul could cheat on you if he wanted to, what with his looks…»

Butch stayed back, horrified.

Janet looked at Barbara in utter confusion.

«I beg your pardon?»

«No. Samantha. It was me on the phone. I needed to keep you inside, you see.»

«I-I… I’m sorry?»

«I wanted to talk to you. Believe me, I’ve been wanting to for _years_ now.»

«What are you doing in my _home_?» Janet snapped, slowly recovering from her shock.

Barbara stopped right in front of her, just at arm’s length.

«Do you remember my birthday party? My eighth birthday? The one with the pink balloons and the bouncing castle?»

«Your… What are you _talking about_?»

«You were invited. Now, I’m aware you probably don’t remember. But to me? It was a formative event.»

Janet inched back towards the phone.

«Please leave now, or I’m going to call the police», she menaced.

Kean looked down at her watch.

«No point, the silent alarm was triggered four minutes ago. They are already on their way. Now, you _really_ don’t remember?»

« _Please_ leave.»

Butch joined his boss and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to distract her from her plans, but she just slipped away.

«You should have remembered. It was _important_ to me. I’m a grown adult and I still find myself unable to go to sleep at night, thinking about that day.»

Janet had grabbed the phone. Barbara had followed her, staying at the same precise distance.

«What did I _do_?» the house’s owner asked.

«You spilled orange juice on my dress.»

«W-»

Janet stopped at that, too stunned and confused to even finish that word. Gilzean was too well acquainted with Barbara to be confused. _Shit_ , he thought. The blonde reached under her vest.

«And you should really, really, _really_ have been less of a clumsy bitch», she snapped, getting her gun and shooting Janet in the face.

The recoil sent her flying back, squeaking. He grabbed her by the hips to keep her from falling.

«WHAT WAS THAT?», he shouted. «What the _hell_ was that?»

«Therapy», Barbara replied, sliding out of his arms. «Now come on, we have a Picasso to steal.»

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed is not a frequent visitor of this fanfiction because he's bloody hard to write, that's why.
> 
> Also, plot progression, yay!


	20. Chapter 20

«You don’t touch this», Sarah said. «The vigilante is Alvarez’s case. You don’t touch this, you don’t investigate this, are we clear? Even if you tried, you would not have a clear perspective.»

Harvey watched Jim sink into his chair, jaw clenched, as the captain drove her point in. He was growing worried for the boy. Actually, he was well past worried. He’d thought Jim could soldier through anything, but that theory was being seriously put to the test. Jimbo’s life was an endless shitstorm, and it was clear it was chipping away at him. Leslie’s abduction. The vigilante intent on crucifying him. Kean. The man was strong, but not not invulnerable.

Jim was staring straight ahead, still as a stone. He hadn’t replied, and if Essen was waiting for him to agree with her, she had better have all day.

«Come on, captain», Harvey said. «There has to be some way we can help.»

«Yes, there is. Alvarez asks a question, you answer. Truthfully. You contribute any ideas, any vague hint, any suspicions you may have. But you don’t get out there specifically looking after a criminal who is targeting Jim. It’s too personal.»

«The Ogre thing was plenty personal we still caught the bastard.»

 _«And it turned out so well for everyone involved»_ , Sarah snapped. Then she saw the empty look on Gordon’s face. «Sorry, Jim. I didn’t mean...»

«No, it’s true», the blond replied. «And it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Are we sure he’s targeting me? I mean, he could be going after any cops who arrested the wrong person, or does a shitty job.»

«No one he went to the press about, and getting the word out seems to be his goal. I’ll still call the other captains, see if they encountered something similar. But, Jim… You made a _mistake_. A horrible mistake, maybe, but just a mistake. There’s no shortage of bad cops in Gotham. Killers, drug dealers, moles for the mob… You name the crime, I can name someone. If this was about cleaning the GCPD, you’re the last man the vigilante would go after. I really think it’s personal.»

Jim wiped his face, eyes lost in the distance.

«And he used my name and credentials to get to his victim, we knew that», he murmured.

There was a lull after that, so Harvey intervened again.

«So, Alvarez works the case, alright. Where’s the bastard?»

«On a crime scene. There was a robbery at the Cohen’s estate, the wife was killed. He was in the area, I sent him there an hour ago. He should be back s… He _is_ back», she finished, walking away from Harvey’s desk to go down the stairs and join Alvarez at the other end of the bullpen.

The detective talked first, causing Sarah to cast a quick, worried glance in Jim’s direction. She said a few words - no more than three - and Alvarez resumed talking, gesturing as he gave his explanations. He was _not_ being briefed about the vigilante. He was the one giving the briefing. Essen asked a question. He nodded. She turned to Jim again and sighed.

«What _now_?» the blond muttered, watching the captain make her way to them, followed by Alvarez.

He sank into his chair and turned it towards the stairs so he would get the news - whatever they were - more quickly. Harvey got out of his seat and went to stand next to him. Essen paused in front of them, then collected herself.

«I have bad news», she started. «There was video footage of the robbery and murder at the Cohen’s. There’s no nice way to say it… Barbara Kean assembled a team and raided the place to steal several paintings. She was the one who killed Janet Cohen. It was not related to the robbery at all. She sought her out and executed her.»

Jim’s only reaction was to clench and unclench his fist. It took five more minutes of explanations to get him to utter a «I see».

 

###

 

«Can you pick a lock?» Barbara had asked.

Butch really felt like the most used word of his vocabulary was «depends». He could manage simple locks - being born and bred in Gotham taught you uncommon skills - but that was it. And Barbara… Barbara had issues with nuances. She could have been talking about a bike’s lock. She could have been talking about an armored door. She could have been talking about a high security lock in a military complex, surrounded by a dozen armed soldiers. She hardly ever provided a context.

So, he had replied: «Depends. What kind?»

To which she had answered : «I’ll show you!»

Showing him had involved a ride across town, to an address he was entirely too familiar with. That being said, the apartment door’s lock had proved easy enough to pick, even with Butch’s limited skills. After he had argued against breaking in for ten minutes, of course. He was still ranting when they entered the flat.

«Just so you know, if I even _suspect_ he’s coming home, I’m leaving», he said. «You’re on your own. Bullock is a moron and an asshole, but he’s a good shot, and he doesn’t fool around.»

«He won’t be here for hours», Kean replied, dismissive. «He has a full time job.»

She looked around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the rows of half-empty alcohol bottles on the kitchen counter.

«What a mess», she commented.

«I don’t know, it was way worse the last time I came. No dirty boxers on the floors. No two months old Chinese take-out on the coffee table…»

She whirled to him, surprised.

«You’ve been here before?»

«A few times.»

«I didn’t know you knew Harvey.»

«I just _told_ you I did.»

«No, I mean, I thought you knew _of_ him, nothing more.»

Butch shrugged.

«He was a good friend of my previous boss. She gave him intel, he gave her intel, things like that. So, you gonna kill him?»

«Depends. Do you like him?» Barbara asked, opening the drawers of the coffee table and digging through the papers she found there.

He thought about it.

He loathed Harvey. That being said, he had to express his opinion in a way that discouraged murder. He searched for words, joining the blonde and watching what she was doing.

«It’s more… You know the feeling when there’s a woman you like. Well, man in your case, I guess…»

«Woman works too, I’m not picky.»

Butch blinked.

«Alright. _Woman_ you like. Really like. For something like ten years. And you stand by her side and she sees you as her BFF? Brother from another mother? Most trusted lieutenant?»

«Let’s assume I ever needed ten years to get into someone’s bed.»

«You’re a bit of a cunt. Were you ever told you’re a bit of a cunt?»

«As a matter of fact…»

«Are you going to let me explain or _what_?»

«I’m sorry. _Please_ continue.»

Butch huffed and let her move on to the TV stand, unwilling to speak. She snooped through boxes of bank statements and bills.

«So imagine that woman starts dating someone else», he ended up saying. «And it’s not a great guy. Actually, it’s a total shithead. But she loves him. She does. They make each other miserable when they _are_ together, really, and they miss each other like hell when they are _not_ , so they settle for that weird on-off thing where the misery evens out a bit, and they can be genuinely happy to be best friends who fuck.»

«And that ‘shithead’ is Harvey Bullock.»

«Yep.»

«Heh. There’s no accounting for taste.»

«Apparently not.»

Barbara put the boxes back into the TV stand, the lot of them appearing entirely undisturbed.

«So you _don_ _’t_ like him.»

«I don’t, but that’s not the point. I kind of _hate_ him but not to the extent that I’d want him dead.»

«But you wouldn’t mind if I killed him.»

«I _guess_ I wouldn’t? But I’d rather you didn’t?»

«Duly noted», his boss said, finding a new cupboard to search through.

Butch sighed.

«What is it that you’re looking for anyway?»

«I’ll know when I find it.»

«You’ll know wh… You had nothing planned at all, did you? You’re just here in case something interesting turns up.»

She turned to him and grinned.

«Preeeetty much?»

«That’s it, I’m out. I’ll wait in the car.»

«Stay right here!»

Butch rolled his eyes and stayed, feeling much like her pet dog. She opened every cabinet and every cupboard, inspecting their contents and putting everything back exactly as she had found it (namely, in a fucking mess). He could see she was getting frustrated. He did not comment. To a _sane_ person, it was clear that all Bullock owned was crap, more crap, and maybe a spare gun. Keyword there being «sane».

Barbara still managed to find an envelope filled with old polaroids, well hidden under old books and magazines, in one of the nightstands’ drawers.

«Is that her, by any chance?» she asked, handing him one of the pictures. «The woman?»

He shivered as pins and needles ran through his every scar. It was. The picture really brought you back, too. Fish’s hair had not been long and curly in nearly ten years, and the clothes screamed eighties. She was rolling her eyes at the camera and gesturing for the photographer to go away, one of her hands blurry.

Butch felt faint, grief hitting him square in the stomach.

He kept his voice casual.

«Yes.»

«You can do better.»

«That’s your opinion, lady.»

«Well, for a start, you could do _me_.»

«I stand by my point.»

The blonde started pouting, putting the polaroid back into its envelope.

«You know, that constant rejection might end up hurting me. Don’t go breaking my heart!»

Elton John. Fine. He could play that game too.

« _I couldn_ _’t if I tried_ », he retorted, earning a smile.

He couldn’t help it. He smiled back.

«Now come on. He _will_ kill us both if he catches us, and I want to enjoy some of that heist’s money. Let’s go.»

«Alriiiight. You’re a bit of a killjoy. Were you ever told you’re a bit of a killjoy?»

«As a matter of fact…» he piped back, ushering her out.

She followed him willingly, ran back in to fetch her purse - that she had somehow forgotten - _then_ finally let herself be led to the car. She was (blissfully) silent for a whole ten minutes, focused on looking at her bare feet. She had put them on the dashboard, and was wriggling her toes, inspecting her black nail polish.

«So, is it common, cops exchanging intel with Mafia bosses?» she asked.

«You mean, like Bullock and Fish?»

«Yes! I get the feeling that’s what Cobblepot is trying to get from Jim.»

«I think even Cobblepot doesn’t realize what he is trying to get from Jim. Just saying.»

«I have a faint idea of what you are implying. Please don’t imply that.»

«I wouldn’t dare.»

She raised her eyebrows. He smirked.

«More seriously», she continued, «if cop informants are a thing, I want my own. You are getting me one.»

«I’m sorry. Do you somehow think they are sold at Walmart?»

Barbara glared at him.

«You know full well what I _mean_.»

«I’m _not_ going to Gordon to ask him to become your informant. He ain’t fond of me, in case you didn’t remember. I value my health.»

«Not _JIM_. I want to destroy his life and shatter his mind. That’s not very compatible with flirty information brokering, is it?»

«So what am I supposed to do? Put up a job offer in the GCPD? ‘Busty blonde recruiting horny cop with rocks for brains’?»

«You are difficult. Why are you always difficult? Haven’t you learned by now that my plans work?»

« _Only because I_ _’m here to translate ‘crazy’ into logistics!_ »

«And the job offer thing is not necessary. I have someone in mind.»

 

###

 

Jim went back to Leslie’s well past midnight, after an evening spent learning Harvey’s most efficient problem solving technique: alcoholism. His partner had dragged him out for drinks at the end of the day, and dragged him out of the bar after deciding it had been a bad idea. Then he had driven him to Leslie’s building with the promise to pick him up in the morning, so they could retrieve his car.

Harvey seemed to believe Jim felt down. Actually, he felt so angry he could barely keep it in. The rage was overwhelming and he had no outlet, so he had attempted to drink himself into numbness instead. It had worked, but only partially. He wanted to punch things instead of shooting them. He was more or less convinced he wouldn’t kill Barbara on sight, though he had no idea what _else_ he would do to her. Arrest her. He was supposed to arrest her. Not choke the life out of her.

Life was not the right term, really. Barbara was dead and gone.

Lee was already sleeping, so he took a brief shower and slipped into bed, wrapping himself around her. He did try not to wake her, but she still turned to him, propping herself up on an elbow.

«Sorry», he muttered. «Didn’t want to wake you.»

«It’s fine, I was up», she lied, kissing him.

She froze for an instant, because she could smell the vodka, but she was tactful about it.

«How was your day?»

He closed his eyes and pulled her close, burying his face against her shoulder. The cut on her throat was still a bit sore, or so he thought.

«Tell you tomorrow», he murmured.

He held on, unable to let her go. He would have to leave her, and soon. Barbara _would_ get to her. She had walked straight into a mansion protected by the best crew private security had to offer, men that could have made a career in special forces, without the slightest trouble. She had shot Janet Cohen at point-blank. She’d been gone minutes before the police could get there. All of that through the power of money and guns.

«Alright», Lee answered, holding him close.

He really had no idea how he would gather the will to leave. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

He lifted his head and kissed her, softly, then crushed his lips against her and rolled over her, the rage slipping away, replaced by need and fear. Mostly need. She kissed him back and arched against him.

 

###


	21. Chapter 21

«So when is it you go?» Harvey asked Leslie, after following her into the exam room.

She was supposed to be on medical leave, between her injuries and the «psychological trauma» she was expected to be suffering from. She had declared herself bored, and dropped by the precinct to say hello to everyone. And everyone had been glad to see her. She’d been swarmed by coworkers from the moment she had walked into the bullpen, to the point that Jim nearly had to stand in queue to get to kiss her. That had been fun to watch.

She opened a cabinet, checking that her supplies were properly ordered. She obviously didn’t agree with her replacement’s sorting preferences, because she frowned and pulled a jar out, then forced herself to put it back.

«In three days», she replied. «In the morning.»

He hadn’t pegged her as the kind who’d run. Then again, she had a lot on her plate, and it was only for four days. «Forensic science conference», she had said. In New York. And she had made a point to be overly enthusiastic about it, the kind of enthusiastic about crime you expected from Edward Nygma. She was coming back. Still, Harvey wasn’t blind to the growing awkwardness between her and Jim, and to the amount of make up she had plastered on her face to cover the circles under her eyes.

«Well I hope it will be fun. You know, about as much as learning how to better dissect a body can get.»

«It’s not about autopsies! It’s a toxicology thing.»

«To be used during autopsies.»

«Alright, it’s about autopsies.»

He chucked, then there was a lull in the conversation. She grew serious.

«Can I ask for something?»

«Yeah?»

«Can you be there for Jim while I’m gone?»

Harvey rolled his eyes. _Because the rest of the time I_ _’m not?_

«Lee.»

«I know, I know, I don’t mean you’re not there for him all the time. It’s just… I’m _worried_ , Harvey. He’s in a dark, dark place… And I can’t reach him at all. I’m trying. I can’t.»

The detective sighed.

«Yeah, that’s not my problem so why don’t you tell him that?»

She stared him down.

«Alright, I’m listening», he amended.

She could be the hell of a scary lady.

«Things are not good right now, at all. There’s the vigilante, and there’s everything on the job… And Barbara. There’s Barbara.»

«Thompkins. You _know_ I don’t want the run down of your problems, I don’t give a shit, don’t cry on my shoulder. Just tell me what you want me to _do_.»

«He’s angry. He has given me the details of everything that has happened, but it was just that, a _report_. He won’t share what it does to him, but I can see he’s angry. A kind of angry that has me _scared_.»

«Oh Jesus. You had to go and listen to the crazy bitch. He’s not going to snap and hurt y-»

«Of course he isn’t.»

«Then what the hell are you ranting about?»

Leslie hesitated. She started saying something, stopped herself, took a deep breath.

«Am I silly for being afraid of _Barbara_? She was so, so good at poisoning the well from her cell in Arkham. I’m terrified of what she’ll do now. Because you were there that night, when she woke up. You saw what she’s like. And it terrifies me - _terrifies_ , I don’t have a better word - to _know_ she’ll be going after Jim in the state he’s in now. She will _destroy_ him. She _knows_ him.»

Harvey clenched his teeth and said nothing because there was nothing to say. She was right.

«And I can’t _reach_ him», Leslie continued. «Because he’s afraid for me and because he feels guilty, so he won’t let me in. I _hate_ it, but I can’t do a thing. I was hoping _you_ could.»

«I’m _trying_. What kind of fucking miracles do you think I can work?»

«With Jim? Pretty much all of them.»

He froze.

«No pressure at all», he replied after a long silence.

«You know what I mean. You’re his lifeline. Have been from the moment you met him. If someone can help him now, it’s you.»

Harvey sighed.

«I’ll see what I can do. Getting him to shoot crap should be a nice start, I guess. Maybe picking a fight with bikers in some seedy bar.»

Lee stared at him, wide eyed.

«That last part is a joke, right? Forget it, I don’t want to know.»

The cop chuckled.

«No you d-»

His phone rang. He picked up, since the conversation was all but done anyway.

He was told something. It sounded insane, and didn’t register.

«I’m sorry», he said. «Can you repeat that?»

 

###

 

«Really, Crispus. This conversation could have been _entirely_ civil», Butch said. «Did you _have_ to draw your gun?»

The cop moaned from his spot on the floor, because kicks to the groin would do that to you.

Gilzean crouched.

«I mean, I just wanted to talk. We’ve talked before. We’re, like, practically best pals. So you need to chill out.»

«Fuck you», Allen gasped between pants. «Don’t break into people’s homes if you don’t want a gun in your face. And tell Cobblepot he can go fuck himself.»

Butch blinked.

«Oh right. I guess you don’t know. I don’t work for Oswald anymore. So when I say my boss wants to talk to you, I mean ‘Barbara Kean’ wants to talk to you. Sorry for the confusion. Think you can stand?» he asked, helping the cop up.

Allen was still in pain but didn’t whine at all. He stood and wiped his forehead. He was barely even hunched.

«Kean? Wait… _Barbara Kean_?»

«Yeah. You know, pretty socialite, Arkham escapee, newbie crime lady.»

«What the hell does she want with me?»

«You, nothing. But we can’t find Montoya. Miss Kean has some intel she’d like to share, see, but she’ll only share with friends. Except Montoya is nowhere to be found and we’re growing concerned.»

«Well, you can keep looking. If you find her, give me a call. We’ve been searching very hard ourselves.»

«Meaning?»

«Meaning - and the guys on your payroll on the force would have told you that in one phone call -she’s missing. Has been for days. She was undercover, we lost contact.»

«Aw _fuck_. I’m supposed to bring her back alive and in good health. That’s not gonna fly. Who was she spying on?»

«Do me a favor and find yourself another mole.»

Butch sighed. People always _had_ to make things difficult. He would have been happy to keep things friendly, too. He didn’t want blood on his suit. He’d just gotten it dry cleaned.

He kneed Crispus in the stomach.

«Allow me to repeat the question.»

 

###

 

It was difficult, overly difficult, to find competent henchmen. You couldn’t get it all: the fighting skills, the obedience, and the brains. Brains were a particularly rare commodity, which explained why Oswald walked into his living room and found Barbara Kean having tea with Miriam and his mother.

«The trick is to use conditioner», Kean was saying, playing with Miriam’s hair. «And it will take some time to get your hair nice and shiny, but you will look just _lovely_ once it is repaired. I will tell Oswald which brand to buy for you. It’s very specific. Don’t let him get anything less.»

Heads nearly rolled. Frightening his mother was out of the question, however. Oswald forced a smile on.

«Miss Kean. I didn’t expect you today.»

The lunatic gave him a brilliant commercial smile.

«I had some business to discuss - art related - and I was in such a hurry that I forgot to give you a call. I’m so sorry. I can wait some more, or come back tomorrow, if you’d prefer.»

Both Miriam and his mother appeared charmed and in perfect health, which was surprising considering Kean’s last visit, not to mention her little show at the Cohen’s.

«I’m sure we can discuss those matters today, right now, in my office. I wouldn’t want to make you wait.»

«Oh! Thank you so much. Just a second», she said, getting a notepad - not a knife - from her purse, and scribbling some words on a sheet she neatly tore off and gave to Miriam. «This brand. No other. And make sure to follow the instructions on the bottle precisely.»

The girl nodded eagerly, holding the note like a precious treasure. Kean gave one last caress to her hair and moved away.

«It was a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Kapelput. It had been entirely too long.»

Oswald watched in bewilderment as Gertrude hugged the sociopath as her oldest friend.

«I’m so glad my boy is doing business with such a nice girl as you. I hope he can help you with the gallery.»

«I hope so too. Have a nice day. Good bye, Miriam.»

She joined Oswald, who stared at her, baffled. He showed her the door.

«To my office», he snapped.

He was still confused when they entered the room. He locked the door. He put on some music. Then he started shouting.

«YOU ARE NOT TO EVEN BE IN THE SAME _BLOCK_ AS MY MOTHER, LET ALONE THE SAME ROOM. ARE WE CLEAR?»

«Oh, come on, I hadn’t seen Gertrude in decades. She’s such a sweet, eccentric lady.»

He crossed the room and pushed her against a wall.

«NEVER. GO. NEAR. HER. AGAIN!» he spat.

Kean rolled her eyes and slipped away.

«If you insist.»

She twirled and… Frolicked, maybe? To the desk. She sat on its edge.

«What _is_ this feeling so _sudden_ and _new_ I felt the moment I laid eyes on you?»*

«I’m sorry? What are you babbling about _now?_ »

She stood and covered her cheeks with her hands.

«My pulse is rushing… My head is reeling…»

He _was_ going to kill her. That was the kind of sick humor he was not fond off. He had heard enough of it, especially from pretty girls.

«My face is _flushing_ », she continued, acting confused. «What _is_ this feeling? Fervid as a flame… Does it have a _name?_ »

He quietly retrieved his gun. She whirled to him and snapped her fingers.

«Yes! Yes! _Loathing_. Unadulterated loathing.»

«Miss Kean, I do believe you wish to die. Do you w-»

«For your face», she said, pointing. «You _voice_. Your…» - Her eyes inspected his suit and stopped on his necktie. - «Clothing? Let’s just say… I loathe it all!»

He pressed the barrel of the gun to her forehead.

«I can safely say the feeling is mutual. Now, sit, and pray whatever sick divinity allowed you to exist to convince me not to check if you have as little brains as I believe you do.»

«Aw, you are no fun at all», she moaned, taking a seat. «Back to business, then?»

Oswald circled the desk and sunk into his office chair.

«You have exactly one minute to convince me and save your sorry hide.»

«Alright. Can you launder money? I recently acquired a Picasso, I have a buyer, but I could use a few dozen fake businesses to receive his money and turn it into untraceable cash. Now, I already have a partner who gets a sixty percent share. It’s a Picasso. You get what you can take. Still! I get twenty percent, you get twenty percent, and twenty percent is still that many zeros», she explained, lifting several fingers.

He stared at her.

After a few moments, she waved a hand under his nose to snap him out of it.

 

###

 

«So», Gertrude asked, when Oswald joined her after his conversation with the blonde maniac. «Will you be working with the _lovely_ Miss Kean?»

«Yes. It appears I will. She had a most lucrative deal to offer. Still, she’s unlikely to visit again.»

«That’s a shame. She’s so very _pretty_.»

«She’s a common harlot, mother.»

«Don’t you say such things! She is _so_ nice, I won’t have my boy insulting a nice lady!»

Had the world been turned upside down? Oswald cringed, composed himself, and nodded.

«I’m sorry, mother. I believe I might have gotten the wrong impression. But I’m curious. Have you met her before? You seemed very familiar.»

«Oh, I hadn’t seen her since she was a little girl. Your father knew the Kean family. They did _business_.»

Gertrude looked aside for a moment. His father was never discussed. Oswald redirected.

«A little girl, you say?»

«Yes. We went to her birthday party. You wouldn’t remember. You were small. A baby, nearly. But I remember it well. It was a _grand_ affair. Very beautiful, everything. _Actresses_ playing fairies.»

It sounded exactly like the kind of insufferably overblown party the bitch would have gotten.

«It must have been very fun», he said, neutrally.

«Oh, it was, for all of the children. But… It was _so_ sad. I didn’t talk very good English back then, so the other parents had to explain to me, and I thought I had translated it wrong.»

«Sad? At a… Six years old’s birthday party?»

«Well. It was a _scandal_ , because… Little Barbara wasn’t there, you see. She stained her dress, when it started - the party, I mean», Gertrude explained, shaking her head. «So her mother got angry and sent her to her room.»

«I’m sorry?»

«She sent her to her room. Because she had dirtied her pretty dress. That poor little girl was not allowed to come back.»

Oswald blinked. That explained a few things.

«Well, people have been killed for less, I suppose», he mused.

His mother’s eyes went wide.

«What do you mean?» she exclaimed in a panic.

«Nothing, mother. It’s a figure of speech. I mean that it was very, very cruel way to treat such a young child.»

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Barbara's song of the day is "What is this feeling", from the musical "Wicked". Listen to that song if you don't know it yet and can bear musicals.


	22. Chapter 22

Harvey got out of his car and looked up at his apartment, taking in the cloud of black smoke streaming out of his kitchen and bedroom’s windows. Well, «windows» was not exactly the term anymore. «Gaping holes» sounded more like it. The walls were cracked and blackened with soot. Firemen, on a lift, were fighting the dying flames.

«Holy shit», the cop murmured as Jim, who had been driving, joined him. «Think there’s any chance my records survived that?»

From the looks of it, not a snowflake’s chance in hell. His partner put a hand on his shoulder.

«What the _hell_ happened?» Harvey shouted, shock turning to anger. «How the fuck does that happen?»

Fifteen years in that place. It was filthy and small and would have needed to be renovated back in the seventies, but it was _home_.

«You left the stove on», a girl’s voice chimed in.

He whirled to the teenager.

«Kyle. What have you done _now_?»

«Me? _Me?_ Me! I _called the fire department_ , that’s what I did! I dropped by ‘cause I wanted a shower and I smelled gas when I opened the window, so I went to call _them_ », she snapped, pointing at the firetruck. «Except the idiots got there too late. Your upstairs neighbor walked by your door with a smoke. Didn’t turn out so good for him. He’s a bit singed.»

«Could be a gas leak», Jim pointed out.

He was still watching the fire, in full blown detective mode. Harvey rolled his eyes.

«Of course it’s a leak. I don’t cook.»

«Nope, it was the stove», Selina insisted. «I did some listening when the insurance guys arrived. The firemen say the stove was on.»

«Yeah, I’ve spent the whole week at Scottie’s, so you won’t pin this on me. You sure you didn’t cook yourself something when you dropped by to take that shower? Because it sounds like you’re in my flat more often than I am.»

«What the hell was I going to cook? Your one jar of mayo?»

« _CASE IN POINT._ I don’t use the damn stove!»

«Maybe we should just go see what the fire department has to say», Jim cut in, nearly getting himself punched in the face.

Harvey did not want any logic or common sense. He wanted to shout at someone not to have to focus on the disaster his life had become. Everything he _owned_ up in flames.

They still went to talk to the firemen, and the landlord, and the insurers, and sure enough, it _was_ the stove, which made no sense. The detective argued they got it wrong, threw a few suspicious glances at Kyle, and listened to the explanations. The stove was turned on - the firemen who had walked into the place had found it in pieces, but with a control knob turned to the max. The damage to the burner showed the stove _had_ been on when the place had caught fire. They _could_ be wrong, the fire department guy said, and they would check once the place would be safe to enter, but it looked like an open and close case.

It made no sense at all, since Harvey had not been home in five days, unless you accused the most likely culprit.

«I told you I had nothing to do with it!» Kyle snapped when he managed to get his hands on her.

«Are you _real_ sure? Because I don’t see who else it could have been.»

«Selina», Jim intervened. «We’re not going to be angry. We’re glad you are safe - you could have been blown to bits when you opened that window - but if you _had_ something to admit, it would save us a lot of investigating.»

«It’s. Not. Me.»

«Alright», the blond said, unconvinced.

« _I_ _’m_ not the washed out alcoholic, by the way. Maybe he did cook and doesn’t remember.»

« _I wasn_ _’t there_ », Harvey repeated.

Jim raised a finger to shut them up and walked back to the fire truck. There was some talking, some bartering, some threatening, some backing off (all of it Jim’s). Voices were raised, endangering men mentioned, then one of the firefighters grabbed one of the others as he climbed off the lift. Jim listened intently. One of the firemen asked something on his radio, and Gordon waited for the answer, rocking on his heels. Harvey and the brat watched the scene in silence, both curious of the results. Then Jim walked back to them.

«Someone broke in», he announced. «The lock was picked. It’s not Selina, she’s a climber.»

Harvey felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

The kid put her hands on her hips.

«Told you!»

 

###

 

Working for a lunatic with no scruples had its perks. Namely, Barbara had found them a nice, fancy place uptown, a large designer loft complete with hot tub and memory foam mattresses. After sleeping in a chair for _days_ in that cramped bedroom (Kean would have shared the bed, but Butch still thought it was safer to decline), those luxuries felt like paradise. The flat had been borrowed from Patrick Howell, who was known to date an escort and to be renting a discreet place in town so his wife would not find out. Howell was out on the country on a three weeks business trip, which had left his girlfriend at risk for home invasions. «No one will miss a prostitute», Barb’ had pointed out while they were tying the girl up and locking her into the laundry room. They were now her impromptu roommates.

Of course, working for a lunatic with no scruples also had its disadvantages. One of them being coming «home» to an empty apartment, a dead whore with a slit throat, and a post-it telling you «kept weeping, grated on my nerves. Please dispose of the body. <3 <3».

He took a long look at the note then dropped into one of Patrick Howell’s luxurious leather sofas, and sighed.

She was tiring. She was so very tiring. It was not unlike working for Fish. On crack.

And of course, just like with Fish, he didn’t feel like leaving.

He allowed himself ten minutes of quiet, then he called Kean.

«Boss. Where _are_ you?»

«Downtown! There’s a fire, I wanted to see.»

_Wonderful._

«Why didn’t you _wait_ for me? And how did you even get downtown? I had the car.»

«I took the bus, silly.»

«I’m sorry?»

«The bus. You know? Public trans-»

«What are you even _doing_ in town? You’re a criminal on the run!»

«I’m right at home in Gotham, then. And don’t worry. I’m wearing a disguise.»

Butch closed his eyes to collect himself. She was going to drive him insane. Arguably, she had done that. He had not fled, and he could not entirely blame that on his fear of Zsasz.

«Did you get rid of the body?» she asked.

«Not yet.»

«Listen, if you get a cleaner - you know, like in Nikita? - don’t let him put acid in the bathtub. I plan to use it again!»

Gilzean pictured her dead, skull bashed in. It helped a little.

«Did you find Renee?», she asked, not waiting for his answer.

He paused.

«Err… I have bad news. She’s missing. Presumed dead. Undercover gig went south.»

«Oh. Oh. Well, that’s a bummer, I guess», Kean replied, immediately switching topics. «I think Jim is being stalked.»

«Wait, what, _Jim_?»

«Yes! Every time I stalk him, I see that other blond guy following him around.»

«Don’t stalk _Gordon!_ »

«Don’t tell me what to do! I’m the boss. Aren’t I the boss?»

«You won’t be anyone’s boss if he arrests you! Where _are_ you? I’m picking you up!»

«Why do you always have to be so difficult? I’m on Bullock’s street.» - Where there was that _fire_ she wanted to see. - «I’ll meet you in front of that deli on the corner. And take a man with you. I want someone to keep an eye on that possible stalker. I wouldn’t want Jim to be in danger.»

He tried to picture her dead and strangled, and it didn’t help at all.

The next images that sprang to his mind helped even less, and he wasn’t _killing_ her in them.

 

###

 

Barb’s disguise was admittedly not bad, because Butch did not recognize her when she climbed into the car. She was wearing dirty, threadbare jeans and a washed out Cardinals hoodie. All he had seen, when he had parked next to the deli, was some broke junkie smoking a cigarette. She held herself like one, hunched and sullen, face hidden under her hood, behind a veil of matted hair. She had botched her make-up on purpose, making her lips thinner and their color garish, and haphazardly plastering blue powder on her eyelids.

It was a good disguise. The man he’d brought had nearly shot her when she opened the car door, for a start.

She sank into the passenger seat and stretched.

«Why is Bullock’s apartment in shambles?» Butch asked, though he did not really need an answer.

«Gas leak, I think.»

«You think.»

«Yes. See the blue Audi?»

Butch groaned and looked around. Sure enough, a blue Audi was parked a few spots away.

«Yeah.»

«It’s to be followed. I want to know everything about the driver. And you should have taken two cars, mister Logistics. I _told_ you there would be tailing involved.»

 _Right._ Gilzean stared into the distance, drove to the next street, double-parked, then handed the car keys to the thug sitting on the backseat.

«You heard the lady», he said, getting out of the car. «Blue Audi, report to me, don’t lose the guy.»

Then Barbara got him to take the bus. It was a long ride and nobody died, which was an accomplishment. She didn’t shoot anyone on the walk back to the loft, either, which was good.

She didn’t shut up for a _second_. He longed, longed, _longed_ to crush her against a wall and to kiss her into silence.

 

###

 

Jim kissed Lee, and kissed her again, paying no heed to the stares every passerby on the platform was giving them. He was getting used to kissing Leslie in public, and really enjoying it, if he had to be honest.

«You’re learning!» she said with a grin. «I didn’t even have to ask!»

He flushed and cleared his throat but smiled back.

«Hereby proving that I _can_ be taught. Don’t tell Harvey.»

She chuckled.

«I won’t. Oh my god! Do I have the list? I think I forgot the list!» she exclaimed, patting her pockets.

«Inside pocket of your purse, the left one.»

«Thank God», she muttered, pulling The List out of her bag.

One hundred seventy-four vinyl records left to find. An extensive search of every music shop in Gotham had brought it down from three hundred forty-six, and Scottie was keeping the results of their treasure hunt well hidden in her attic. She had compiled the list, when she had helped Harvey to dispose of the remains of his possessions, stealing his collection of albums from the container where they had thrown everything. It had taken her a few hours of handling charred, twisted records, but she had written down every title, along with a description of the cover.

They were now trying to find them all.

Harvey was freaking out about his collection. He now owned the clothes he had been wearing when his apartment had burned down, two pants and three shirts that had been at Scottie’s, and his car. That was it. There had been nothing left to salvage from the flat. But all Bullock focused on was the records. Jim supposed that he _had to_ , not to have to take in everything at once. His partner had stayed at Scottie’s for a few days, and would be sleeping on Leslie’s couch during her absence, as he was panicking at the idea of actually moving in with his significant other.

«I’m not you, asshat», he had told Jim. «I need my own place. I can’t pull the locker room to girlfriend’s and back thing you do.»

Scottie was taking that with grace and tender chuckling, which clearly indicated Harvey had found the One (at least, that was Leslie’s conclusion).

«Okay. So. I have the whole afternoon free once I arrive in New York», Leslie said. «I _think_ I can cover at least five stores, I just have to drop my suitcase at my uncle’s before that. I’ll call you if I find something.»

«Or, you know, you could call me to let me know the trip went well and-»

«Of course I will!» she cut in, kissing him again. «It just goes without saying.»

«It does.»

He tried not to let her go, but the platform was getting crowded. The train was about to leave, and people were running to its doors, bumping into them in their haste. Leslie moved back and grinned, pointing at the train.

«Talk to you in a few hours», she said, pecking him on the cheek and making her way to the train’s doors.

He helped haul her suitcase in, and watched the doors close over her, and watched the train leave. Her uncle would be waiting for her in New York, would collect her straight from the station’s platform. And he would be grafted to her hip for the entire week-end. She would be safe. Safer than in Gotham, anyway. It was a relief. He still spent five minutes processing the idea, standing in place on the platform. Then he returned to the precinct.

They had too many things to deal with at once and were making no progress. It was horrifying.

Vigilante? «Possibly a cop considering how he proceeded when he used your name to get information to prepare that murder», Alvarez had announced.

There was a possibility - a slight, very slight possibility - that the killer was responsible for the explosion at Harvey’s, but Jim had a sinking feeling it was most likely Barbara’s doing. Unexpected failed murder attempts seemed to be her thing.

Then there was the Dollmaker case. They had looked into everything under the sun. Potential patients, medical supplies sellers, missing persons reports… Harvey had gotten a friend of a friend of a friend to «procure» flight plans for some of the private jets and helicopters leaving Gotham. He was pouring his soul into that investigation and slowly, subtly losing chunks of it. It was Harv’. It didn’t show at all until it hit you in the face.

«We’ll find him», Jim had told his friend, not saying her because the chances of finding _Fish_ were slim to none.

If the Dollmaker had indeed captured her, she was probably long gone, either executed in revenge or sold by the organ to the highest bidder. Jim still hoped to find the boys and to stop the human trafficking.

«I don’t give a _fuck_ about that bastard» Harvey had replied. «What I want is to _know_ she’s dead. I _need_ to know she’s dead.»

That had been the end of the conversation, but Jim had spent six hours straight studying satellite imagery of every island in a two hundred miles radius. He had circled a few dozen and was still checking who lived there, and what the buildings on them were.

The last thing was the Stephenson-Bakerton case. They had put the word out, with the help of Sarah. Every unit knew about the MO of the killer, based on the two - possibly three - victims’ disappearances and deaths. Ed was digging through the archives to find similar cases. They had been questioning the friends and coworkers of Delores and Sabrina for days.

One of them had proved hard to contact, but Harvey had finally managed to get her to the precinct when Jim arrived. His partner was talking with her.

«Yeah, she left in the middle of her shift, and in the next twenty minutes we got an email saying ‘I quit’, but come on, we’re barely a step above fast food. It’s not flipping burger, but it’s not the job of your life. It would not have been the first employee to drop everything. You wouldn’t believe the turnover rate.»

«Anything special happened that day, or the days before? Did anyone show interest in her?» Jim asked.

«She was _pretty_. Every guy flirted with her. It annoyed her to hell and back, too. She was talking marriage with her boyfriend, so she didn’t want the interest.»

«Please think about it. Maybe someone stood up from the lot. Someone older? Creepier? Not the kind of clientele you usually get? Overly aggressive, maybe?»

«Once again, ‘one step above fast food’. We see people of every kind.»

«Just try to remember», Harvey pressed.

«No one creepy that day. She had the one _hot_ , and I mean John Stamos hot customer flirt with her for a while. I mean, I remember looking at the guy and thinking ‘wow, someone out of her league’. Heads turned. But he wasn’t creepy. He was super nice and polite. He tried to get her number for a while.»

«Did he give his?»

«No, not that I know of.»

«Are you one of those places that puts the names on the cups when people order?»

«Yeah. David. I think his name was David.»

The woman frowned.

«Might be relevant, because you talk about explosive necklaces… He was wearing a scarf. White, very thick. I remember because we were roasting in the kitchen and I thought a scarf was insane.»

Jim and Harvey exchanged a look. That was more than relevant. They got a description, let the woman leave, and returned to the missing persons reports.

«John Stamos hot, early forties, now let’s hope his name is _actually_ David», Bullock grunted as they flipped through the piles of photocopies.

Half an hour passed, then Jim froze and held out one of the sheets.

«It’s actually David», he said. «Banker, sent a suicide note to his brother. He went missing right before Delores.»

«I’ll get in touch with MPU», Harvey replied, grabbing the sheet.

«Yeah, I’ll-»

Jim’s phone rang, interrupting him. He smiled as he saw Leslie’s name on the screen, and picked up.

«Hey. So how was your trip?»

«I have a question», Barbara replied. «You didn’t leave her unprotected so far, and suddenly you do, so I’m wondering. Do you somehow think I’m allergic to traveling?»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said romance wouldn't be the focus, but let me have my fun. 
> 
> Also, no, I didn't forget about the case.
> 
> Also, @Ephy: This is still less dark than what you write XP


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to get murdered for this one.

«Checkmate!» Miriam exclaimed.

Oswald studied the board, where his king was neatly cornered between a tower and a queen. Of course, he had led the piece there on purpose, but Miriam did not need to know that. She was very happy to be learning a new game. Checkers was still her favorite (most likely because no one could beat her at it), but she tremendously enjoyed chess. She showed great promise.

«Indeed. I’m thoroughly beaten!», Oswald exclaimed, feigning surprise. «It was a good game. Congratulations!»

She beamed, gave a «did you see what I just did?» look to Gabe and Martin, and started putting the pawns back in their place.

«We’ll have a rematch, won’t we?» she asked.

The crime lord considered it. He had work, endless work, but Miriam had been neglected and locked in an attic for so long that she deserved to be cared for. He nodded, helping her prepare the board. They played in comfortable silence for ten minutes, then the door opened and the young woman lit up.

«Victor!», she exclaimed as the freak entered the room.

She was _blushing_. Oswald didn’t like it one bit. That being said, so far, Zsasz had seemed immune to her charms. Oh, he liked her, and would run to her as soon as Oswald turned his back, but he seemed to be assuming a mentor’s position. He had taught Miriam how to lay rabbit snares in the park, and installed bird feeders close to the trees so she could slaughter the fauna to her heart’s content. She had started making wind chimes out of squirrel bones.

Oswald heaved.

«Victor. What brings you?»

The creep smiled to Miriam, with what he intended as warmth, and ended up as a predatory kind of awkwardness. Then he turned to his employer.

«Giulia is back», he announced. «She returned to her home, with both the boys. She has a shoulder wound, that’s probably what kept her away.»

«I’m sorry, we’ll have to continue this later», Cobblepot announced to his hostage. «I’ll be back later in the day. I’m sure Martin can play with you in the meantime.»

«WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO WORK? It’s not FAIR!»

«Young lady, I will _not_ tolerate tantrums!»

Miriam immediately stilled. She lowered her head, mumbled an apology, then started hissing about her dad and how Oswald was just like him.

He crossed his arms.

She pursed her lips and started sulking.

«Very well, miss, take it that way!» he snapped. «We’ll discuss this when I come back. Let’s go, Victor.»

They retired to Oswald’s office, and Zsasz explained what little he knew of Maroni’s return: she had resurfaced at seven in the morning, in a black van, protected by five bodyguards armed with uzis. She had immediately called her lieutenants in.

«She’s going to hit back», Oswald said, making a mental list of the underlings he had to contact to protect his territory. «She might attack the mansion. I’ll have the security tripled. As for you, my dear friend, the contract is still on. So get out there and work on it.»

 

###

 

«It’s a joke», Ryan said.

Claudia glared at her manager and pointed at the «HELP» written in mayonnaise on the dinner table. She had found the message under crumbled burger wrappings. Customers would pull that crap every now and then and Ryan would not admit that, just because it was a common prank, you could not just assume it was _always_ one. The man who had been sitting there was a bit too old for jokes, too. He had looked about forty. He had not seemed like the kind to leave a mess either. He had been warm and polite when he had ordered (a Kiddy Box for himself so he could bring the toy car home to his son, and a salad for his grandma).

«Just clean it up», he ordered, «and do your _job_. I don’t know if you noticed but we have _other_ customers.»

She frowned.

«Can’t we just call the cops and show them? It’s not like it will take them long to cross the street! And then I can clean it up and they can check the security tapes and we’ll have done a good deed.»

Her boss grabbed a dishcloth and wiped the table.

«Yeah, and maybe they can stay for donuts? Stop wasting my time.»

 

###

 

Jim’s knees buckled.

«Barbara.»

Harvey froze and turned to him, paling, though not as much as Jim himself. The blond felt like the ground had been pulled from under him. His ears were ringing, and he could hear his own heartbeat.

«Don’t hang up!», Barbara warned. «I hear it’s not a good idea to cut negotiations short.»

The cop took a long, shivering breath, while his partner ran into Sarah’s office to explain the situation in hushed whispers.

«Negotiations.»

«Well, you know how it goes. I’m a criminal, this is a hostage situation, I believe this is the part where you do as I say so I let her go intact. Well, it’s a bit too late for ‘intact’, I guess, so let’s settle for ‘alive’.»

He put the phone on speaker as Harvey and Essen joined him.

«What have you _done_?» Jim forced out, his throat clenched.

«What do you _think_?»

Years of history - awkward first dates between a soldier on leave and a shy, pretty socialite; tender one-year-in evenings watching TV in a designer sofa with bare, soft legs sliding over his thighs to tempt his hands into wandering; trips to the seaside and «we should come back for our honeymoon, don’t you think?»’s - faded from his mind and left nothing but murder. He was beyond fear. He _needed_ to get the poison out, out, out, out, and if it took Barbara dying, _good fucking riddance_.

«If you touch a hair on her head», he growled, «I will-»

«Come on! Do you _have_ to be unpleasant?» Barbara cut in, and he realized with a chill that antagonizing her was the last thing he should have been doing. « _I_ can be unpleasant _too_!»

«No, don’t, don’t, I’m sorry, I’ll-»

«WILLY!» his ex called, moving away from her phone. «Make the lady symmetrical.»

There was some mumbling, some moans, a high pitched wail.

«What do you mean, symmetrical?» a man’s voice asked in the distance.

«Her _hands_ , you blind oaf. I mean her _hands_.»

«NO, NO, DON’T», Jim heard himself shouting.

Barbara did not answer. Instead, all he heard was muffled screams of panic that turned into a howl of pain, then sobbing. Harvey grabbed him by the back of his vest to keep him upright. He was vaguely aware of people running around him, and speaking in hushed tones. _Trace that call_.

«As I was saying, I wouldn’t count on ‘intact’. So. Are you ready to have a civil conversation, _now_? There was no need for hostility to begin with. I’m perfectly willing to keep this short and relatively pain free.»

«What. Do. You. Want?»

«Why, it’s easy enough, _darling_. I get _you_ and I give her back. How is that for a trade? I think we’re long overdue for a heart to heart.»

Harvey shook his head, waving an arm in a clear «no» gesture, and mouthed «no, no, no, don’t fall for that».

Jim bit the inside of his cheeks, weighting the risks.

«Me against her. That’s it. No games?»

«No games», his ex replied in a sickeningly sweet voice.

«Alright», the cop said.

Harvey raised his hands in frustration.

«Good», Barbara declared. «There’s a car waiting for you in front of the precinct. AND SINCE I KNOW EVERYONE IS LISTENING - do I have your attention, everyone? - my men have grenades. If _anyone_ follows James, they _will_ throw them at random into the crowd. Just so we are clear. Also, don’t try to have a patrol car follow ours. That’s what rocket launchers are for.»

Jim tried to bolt, but Harvey grabbed him and pulled him back.

«Not on my life. She-», he snapped.

Then Jim punched him, sending him reeling back, and raced down the stairs, shoving a few other cops out of the way.

«She’ll kill you BOTH», his partner called after him.

That was probably true, but Jim wouldn’t have bet Leslie’s life on it. He pressed the phone to his ear.

«Which car?» he asked as he got out of the building.

«The dark blue Golf.»

He looked around.

«There’s three of those.»

«Have your pick, they are all mine.»

One to take him away, two to make sure no one followed. He walked to the closest car. A thug got out of it, hand on his weapon. He snatched Jim’s phone, threw it to the ground, and pushed the cop on the back seat. The door slammed as the car started moving. The blond found himself sitting next to another armed man, who was pointing a gun at him.

«Gimme your piece», he ordered.

Jim complied. His gun flew through the window. He was frisked, and his spare gun found. He didn’t have a knife on him. His father’s - the one Falcone had given him - was in a locked box at Lee’s. If he wanted to escape later on, he would have to disarm one of Barbara’s men.

He heard an explosion as they drove away - _Grenade?_ \- but he did not manage to look back.

The ride seemed to last for days. They stopped on the docks of the Tricorner Yards, and Jim was escorted into a Queen Enterprises warehouse. Barbara was waiting at the opposite end of the building, in a short black dress, holding a purse in front of her. Ten men were standing around her, and Butch Gilzean was among them, right by her side. His presence was not that surprising. He had participated in the robbery at the Cohen’s, and Barbara needed someone with an understanding of the criminal world to organize that kind of heist. Or an abduction, apparently.

Jim left himself be walked to his ex. She had them stop ten feet away from her.

«Did you take his weapons?» she asked.

«Yes maham», a henchman replied.

«All of them?», she insisted, pointing at his ankle. «Good. Now please hold him? No, both of you. He would fight his way out, otherwise.»

Two of the men grabbed him by the arms to immobilize him.

Barbara was very good at the evil bitch act, complete with the red gloves and white boa, in a perfect Cruella De Vil impersonation. Her smile was superior and confident, her eyebrows raised with just the right hint of mockery. Then her face softened into sweet innocence. It turned Jim’s stomach.

«James, dear, it’s so nice to see you.»

«Cut to the chase. You wanted me here? I’m here. Let Leslie go.»

She walked up to him, acting concerned.

«You’re so pale, darling. Have you been taking care of yourself?» she asked, caressing his cheek.

He jerked away in revulsion, though he was kept into place by the two thugs and couldn’t move his face away from her hand. The contact left his skin as clammy as if maggots had been crawling on it. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure.

«Where is she?»

Barbara shrugged and moved away.

«In a safe place.»

«I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again», he sighed. «This is between you and _I_. You hate _me_. And now I’m here, so just leave her out of it. You want to kill _me_ , go ahead.»

She blinked, startled.

«I do not hate you.»

_Well it sure looks like it, you fucking lu-_

Jim breathed in again.

«You don’t», he repeated.

His ex stared at him with horrified worry.

«No! No, no, no! And, as a matter of fact, I do not want to kill you.»

The cop frowned, confused.

«You… Don’t?» he replied, the words making no sense whatsoever. «You _don_ _’t?_ »

_Then what the hell is this about?_

«Of _course_ not, James!» she exclaimed, getting close again. «I care for you. You’re a _good_ guy.»

She ran her hand through his hair, putting it back into place, tenderly. She gazed lovingly at him.

«No, no. I wish you the _best_. I want you to have a _long_ , successful life. I want you to make it to lieutenant, and captain, and even commissioner. Entirely alone», she finished, the caring mask slipping and cracking into pure malice. «Just. Like. Me.»

Jim went blind with rage. That was so unfair he did not even know where to start.

«You don’t get to do this!» he shouted, forgetting about the thugs standing around them. « _You_ left. YOU left, you _crazy bitch_. You don’t get to whine about it. You don’t get to raise _hell_ when I replace you.»

Gilzean chuckled. Barbara looked confused for a second. Then she took a step back.

«Oh, _Jim_. No. No, noooo», she moaned, raising her hands in annoyance. She started pacing, aggravated. «It’s not about that at all. How can you so _completely_ miss the point?»

The cop stared at her and said nothing. If he had opened his mouth, she would have lost it on him. He _at least_ read that, even if he understood nothing else. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to calm herself. Her face grew serious. She returned to him in slow, measured steps, and stopped in front of him.

«You took Jason from me», she accused.

Jim blanched, and gaped in disbelief.

«The _one_ person who ever loved me», she continued, in a quiet and composed tone. «And you killed him. I told you, I _told_ you to leave us alone, but did you listen? _No._ You had to _win._ And I know you wanted to do the right thing, I do. But it doesn’t fix things, does it? You took him away from me. And I’m going to be here, every step of the way, every day of your long, successful life, returning the favor.»

His blood went cold. She meant it, and she would. It was not about Leslie at all. And sending Barbara back to Arkham would not solve the problem, because she could always bribe her way out, plead her way out, or just hire someone to do her dirty work. And while he did blame her, and blamed Lennon for what he had turned her into… Montoya had been right. He had dug his own grave. It could all have been avoided, if he had _thought_ of keeping Barbara safe from the Ogre.

«On that note!» Barbara exclaimed, grinning.

She turned away, getting her phone from her purse. She called someone. She turned the speaker on. They could hear muffled weeping.

«Willy, dispose of the lady, will you?» she said.

«Right now?» her interlocutor replied.

« _Yes_ , right now.»

«Okay, boss.»

There was a silence, still with the underlying sound of Leslie’s sobbing, then a click. Then a gunshot. Then white noise.

«Done», the man announced.

«Thank you, Willy!» Barbara exclaimed, hanging up. She turned to Jim, grinning even more. «Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch? _The wicked witch!_ »

For a few seconds, Jim felt nothing at all. And when he _did_ start to feel something, it was incredulity.

«You’re bluffing», he murmured. «You wouldn’t have done it, you…»

«I’m sorry», she replied, rolling her eyes and digging through her purse. «Are you under the impression that I have scruples at the idea of killing people?»

He swallowed, his entire body numb. She pulled a gun out and shot one of her men in the head. The side of his skull exploded and he fell to the ground, convulsing.

«Damnit, boss!» Gilzean snapped. «What did I tell you about learning to use the damn things before trying things like that?»

«Well _sometimes_ you don’t have a choice, do you?» she retorted.

The fat man rolled his eyes and shot the injured, trashing mobster in the forehead. The remaining henchmen started hesitating, some of them protesting. Barbara whirled to the most vocal, with a scathing glare.

«The _job description_ said you could get killed! You were warned! You knew it could happen!»

«Yeah, but we kind of thought it would be by the _cop_ », the criminal pointed out.

The coin dropped. Jim’s disbelief faded. Leslie was dead.

He shook himself free from the thugs who were restraining him, tripping one to the ground and shoving the other away, and punched Barbara in the face. He followed up by kneeing her in the stomach, threw her to the ground, and dropped down to hit her again. She laughed between each blow, blood streaming from her nose and split lip. Jim raised his hand to strike again. Gilzean pressing a gun to his temple did not stop him. It took three men to drag him away. Once they got him up, Gilzean pushed him back, gun squarely pointed at his face.

Barbara curled up, giggling and coughing. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, then she tried to sit, moaned, and started laughing hysterically.

«You okay, boss?» Gilzean asked.

She chuckled, wiping her bloody nose with the back of her hand, then wiping her hand on her white dress. She grinned, face swollen, lip split, teeth brown with blood.

«I’m fine», she replied between coughs.

Gilzean put his gun back into his holster and went to her up. She was still giggling, even hunched over, and he was carrying her full weight.

«Drop James somewhere out of town», she ordered. «Take his shoes, take his wallet. Don’t hurt him. Let’s go, Butch, we’re done here.»

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really can't get "Ding Dong the witch is dead" out of your head, can you? I need brain bleach.
> 
> Am I getting murdered for this chapter?


	24. Chapter 24

Leslie spread her coat over the backseat of her uncle’s car and patted every pocket. Then she emptied her purse - wallet, card holder, notebook, keys, agenda, mess - item by item.

«I really don’t have it», she said. «Those posters about pickpockets are on to something.»

Her uncle looked to her in the rearview mirror.

«Maybe you left it home?» he asked. «When did you last use it?»

«Home. But I remember putting the battery in my suitcase. Maybe I left it on the bed.»

«We’ll check your suitcase once we get to the apartment… And if your phone isn’t in it, we’ll call your boyfriend, he’ll check your place…»

«I’ll be calling Jim anyway. I promised to check in.»

«Alright. We can see about getting you a replacement after that? There’s a Best Buy two blocks away from my place, I hear prepaid phones are not _that_ expensive.»

«Thank you!»

«Now don’t expect any advice from me on the topic. Never needed a cell and never will!»

They drove through New York - slowly, very slowly, in a traffic worse than Gotham’s - to uncle Harry’s and aunt Meredith’s building. They parked, got Lee’s suitcase out of the trunk, and a police car stopped next to them.

«Leslie and Harry Thompkins?», the driver asked, getting out of the car.

He was holding a photocopy of Leslie’s driver license’s photo.

«Yes?» the doctor replied, concerned.

A second cop got out of the passenger seat of the patrol car and got his radio out.

«We have them, captain. They are unharmed. They just arrived at the uncle’s residence.»

«We’ve been looking for you, Miss Thompkins», the first officer explained. «You’ve been reported as an abduction victim.»

 

###

 

Renee glared at Falcone. Then she glared some more. The old man, who was sitting on the other side of the table in Giulia’s elegant living room, just sipped his coffee and smiled.

«Am I to ever be tortured for information?» the cop asked. «Executed and thrown in the river? Or is it going to be weekly tea parties ‘til the end of time?»

The crime lord lifted his eyebrows.

«I’m not a barbarian, Renee. I don’t generally approve of spies, but I’m not going to fault you for doing your job, especially since Giulia assures me that she recognized you from day one and made sure you couldn’t get any information. If you had not seen me, you would probably have been freed. As things are, you _did_ see me, and I can’t risk releasing you yet. But you will be.»

«Allow me to doubt that.»

«You will be. You saved Giulia and her sons. She considers herself in your debt, she wants you unharmed and free. When it is convenient for everyone involved.»

The old saying was «the enemy of my enemy is my friend», and Carmine seemed to be a traditionalist. Still, an alliance between the Falcone and the Maroni was unheard off. Of course, the only thing Giulia had in common with Sal seemed to be their sons. Her approach of organized crime was cooler, _actually_ organized, and - while she had vocal outbursts - she could not be lured into brash retaliation and careless attacks. It explained why Cobblepot’s head was still squarely on his shoulders. She was doing a good «job» - if leading a crime family could be called that - and it was not that much of a stretch that Carmine would approve of her methods.

«I still don’t think you got out of my basement cell just for coffee and cannoli», Renee pointed out.

«No. No. I _do_ want information. But let’s be civil. I’ll just ask.»

«And I’ll just shut up.»

Falcone clicked his tongue.

«I don’t expect the deep secrets of the GCPD. I already know them. I want your input on Barbara Kean.»

Renee froze, staring at him in shock.

«Barbara Kean», he repeated. «It is my understanding that the two of you used to be involved.»

«What do _you_ want with Barbara Kean?»

«Ah. Of course. You wouldn’t know, you haven’t been reading the news. Had she already escaped from Arkham when you were captured?»

Escaped was not the term Montoya remembered. She knew about a raid on Arkham Asylum and an _abduction_. That was what the news had been saying. It had not occurred to her that Barbara could have orchestrated the whole thing, not without knowledge of the criminal world and contacts there. But Barb’ had plenty of contacts _elsewhere_. A friend of a friend of a friend could have helped her out. She was not without resources. And she was driven. Renee had only managed to visit her once in the asylum, and Barbara’s grinning, empty coldness had scared her. She knew from their past the blonde could be mean, and angry, and spiteful, but it had always been at her lowest. Happy Barbara was caring and warm, and would tease you and comfort you and drag you to parties, and dance for hours with a smile on her face. She was not one to smirk at you with dark pleasure, and to tell you «It’s a shame I didn’t get Thompkins, but I’ll do better next time».

«What happened?» the cop asked.

Falcone had a folder brought to him, and opened it on case file photocopies and news clippings.

«She’s making quite a name for herself. Armed robbery, so far», he explained, handing her a folded newspaper page. «The odd murder. It’s a bit concerning, really. We’re not altogether sure she’s affiliated with Cobblepot, but her choice of ‘sidekick’ did raise that question. She has been spotted with Butch Gilzean, who is known for his previous allegiances to Penguin and Fish Mooney.»

Renee knew Gilzean. He was the dumb, cowardly asshole who had acted as Fish’s right hand for years. He was the brawn to her brains, since he had none of the later, but he’d been good at organizing her men and bringing theatrics to the missions she gave him. He believed himself a great comedian. He was also-

«That makes no _sense_. Gilzean held her hostage, when people found out Cobblepot was alive. She would have been _terrified_ of him.»

Carmine picked patient files out of his folder and pretended to read them.

«Miss Kean’s psychiatrists are not _quite_ sure of what her problem is - they _do_ use a lot of obscure terminology - but they seem to agree on her no longer being able to experience fear.»

Renee reached for the photocopies, but Falcone pushed them away.

«I would not recommend reading this. Not if you ever had any kind of fondness for miss Kean. Those notes are very… Detailed. Let’s just say Barbara’s ability to feel _anything_ was severely crippled, and leave it at that.»

The detective _wanted_ to read it all anyway, just in case there was the slightest chance of recovery, mentions of treatments that might work, _anything_.

«So what, you think Penguin somehow hired her to steal some paintings she happened to know about?»

«He might have. We’ll find out. But there’s a more pressing issue. An hour ago, miss Kean managed to trick Jim Gordon into delivering himself to her. She had him believe she held his girlfriend hostage. He has not yet been found, and a great many people are looking for them, trust me on that.»

« _What_?»

«It was a very well planned operation. The timing was perfect, the car’s exit route defended by armed men. Gordon’s weapons and phone were disposed of first thing… Anyway, the vehicle could not be followed. Now, detective Gordon recently rescued me from a very bad spot. I’m in his debt. Which is why I came to you as the only available person who knows Barbara Kean. Where would she go? Where would she hide? Do you have any clue?»

Renee looked down at the Gazette’s article about the robbery at the Cohen’s. There were two pictures of Barbara: a mugshot, and one of those tabloids candid shots from a charity gala.

She pushed the page towards Falcone.

«I don’t know. I have no idea. This is not Barbara anymore.»

 

###

 

Jim found himself alone on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, in the rain, with no shoes. There was nothing he could do now, except find a phone, call the precinct, and explain what had happened, so he started walking. He didn’t really feel much. He did not really notice when the rocks on the road cut into his feet to the point of bleeding. He didn’t pay attention to the cold.

Weeks of repeated failure and frustration were coming crashing down, washing him out.

He wasn’t one to ever stop and reflect on what had gone wrong. That was the trick. You never stopped. If you did, you never started moving again.

So he had to go back, report, and then do… _Something._ He did not know what yet, since every single step towards his goals had brought at best nothing, and at worst _grief_. Nothing was ever fixed, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and the tunnel moved steadily down into the abyss. You didn’t fight crime in Gotham, you fought ever-spreading rot that could not be cut nor burned down, and that would taint and twist everything it touched. It was a sickness of the mind you could catch if you were not prepared.

Harvey was right. Jim finally got it, why there could be no heroes in Gotham. It had _finally_ sunk in. You could endure the pain and be ready to die for your goals, be ready to be gunned down in an alley or gutted in a slaughterhouse, it did not matter at _all,_ because the currency you kept putting on the table was never _you_. You paid with someone else’s pain and someone else’s blood, and to reach your goals - up, up, up - you had to be willing to stand on a pile of corpses.

He looked down and noticed the blood on his hands, all of it Barbara's. Revulsion forced him to the ground, and he washed the stains away in a puddle, wiping the mud on his pants, rubbing his skin raw. Then he heaved, and puked, and got up - _soldier through it_ \- or he’d have broken down into sobs and never moved again.

One foot in front of the other. _Put one foot in front of the other. And soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor_ _…_

A car drove past him, then another, and then he realized he could have _hitchhiked._ He did, getting a truck to stop.

«You alright?» the driver asked when he got in. «What happened to you?»

«I was robbed», Jim replied.

It was much simpler, and easier to believe.

«They sure dropped you far enough. Going to the city?»

«Yeah. If you could drive me anywhere that has a phone, I’d be grateful. I just need to call someone to come pick me up…»

«Sure. There’s a motel five miles away. Won’t be a long ride.»

«Thanks. _Thanks_.»

A few minutes later, the man parked on the motel’s parking, and handed him five dollars in change, a can of coke, and a pack of Oreos. That little mercy nearly had Jim weeping.

«Good luck», the stranger said. «I hope your friends can get here soon.»

The cop nodded.

«Thanks again. You have _no_ idea how grateful I am for this», he said, shaking the man’s hand.

Goodbyes were exchanged and the car drove away, leaving Jim standing alone in front of the motel. He considered going in, but there was a phone booth outside, and using _that_ phone did not require facing people. He walked to it, put a coin in, and tried to remember the precinct’s number. He did. Then the idea of talking to someone there seemed like too much, so he called Harvey instead.

«Bullock?» his friend snapped.

The blond found himself without a voice.

«Jim, Jim, is that you?» Harvey asked.

Jim breathed in.

«Leslie is d-»

«LESLIE IS FINE», his partner shouted into his phone. «She’s fine, she’s okay.»

Except that wasn’t true.

«No, no», Jim corrected him, so, so tired. «She’s dead. Barbara ordered her killed. I heard her being shot.»

«She’s _fine_! She was never abducted, Kean got her _phone_. Just her phone!»

The blond blinked and found himself sitting on the pavement. He curled up. It didn’t register.

«Sarah is on the phone with Lee _right now_ », Bullock added. «We had the NYPD looking for her everywhere, they found her at her uncle’s. She’s at the station, she’s safe, nothing is going to happen to her. Are _you_ okay?»

 _No_.

«Jim?»

Harvey waited.

«Jim. Jim, I’m coming to pick you up - _shit_ \- where _are_ you? _Can someone find me what that fucking number is?_ » he shouted, moving away from his phone. «Jim? Are you hurt?»

«I’m okay», Gordon said.

Then he sobbed.

 

### 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST.
> 
> @ally : Are you glad? :D


	25. Chapter 25

«My loneliness is killing meee! _And Iiiii_ _…_ »

«Boss», Butch tried to cut in as he pressed an ice-pack to Barbara’s swollen cheek.

She was sitting in the sofa, in a dress that was more than a little torn, her knees swaying in rhythm. Her face was a mess, with a really bad black eye, a slightly less horrific black eye, and red bruises spreading all over her left cheek. Her nose was caked with blood, her lips swollen and split. Gordon had gone to town on her, but then again, it was exactly what she had been aiming for.

«I must confess, I still belieeeve! _I still believe_ …»

«Boss. Please.»

«When I’m not with you I lose my mind!»

« _Boss!_ »

She ignored him, her singing raising in volume and shrillness.

«Give me a _siiiiiiIIIIiiiiiiignnnn_.»

«BARBARA, FOR GOD’S SAKE!»

She jumped to her feet, raising a fist up in the air.

«Hit me baby one more time!»

«I swear if you don’t _stop_ with that song, I will _smother you_. It’s been two hours. STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!»

The blonde put her hands on her hips and looked down at him with a brilliant smile.

«No need to get angry because I’m having a little fun, mister Sourpuss. It’s just a song.»

He groaned.

«Listen. Boss. I’m fine with the whole ‘talking in lyrics quotes’. That’s funny. But you _caaaan_ _’t_ sing. No offense. You pretty much sound like a gerbil thrown into a blender.»

«That’s a fairly specific image.»

«And a fairly exact one, trust me on that.»

She frowned.

«Are you telling me ten years of singing lessons got me nowhere?»

«I figure they got you _somewhere_. Out of the house for several hours a week.»

Barbara’s eyes went wide.

«Oh my god. Did you know my parents? That was _spot on_.»

«I’ve known _parents_. Now sit and keep the ice pack on your face.»

She sighed and dropped down into the sofa, taking the ice and pressing it to her eye. She pouted. Her bottom lip cracked where it was cut, and blood ran down her chin. Butch heaved in aggravation and cleaned the blood with a baby wipe. He did the same with her nose while he was at it, mumbling about how insufferable she was and all of the reasons he should have found himself a better job, having been purchased for one million dollar notwithstanding.

«I’ve got to say, you’re _evil_. I mean that as a compliment, really.»

«Thank you, Butch! That’s so sweet!»

«So, how many times are you going to pull the ‘not-killing-Leslie-Thompkins’ card? Not that it isn’t hilarious.»

He had to admit, she had _flair_. It had been so easy, too. Abductions from public spaces were always tedious, but getting a pickpocket to snatch a phone from a pocket on a crowded platform of a train station… Child’s play. Sure, Barb’ had to spend around four hours giving «interviews» to find an actress with a voice sounding like Thompkins’, and Willy had not totally understood he had to _pretend_ to kill said actress, but otherwise, the organization had been minimal. Two dozen guys, two crates of weapons stolen from one of Maroni’s trucks, and three cars. Butch had lined that up in two phone calls. After that, everything had been in the timing - calling Gordon right before his girlfriend’s train was supposed to arrive in New York - and in Kean’s stellar acting skills.

Gordon had swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

«Until Jim leaves her to keep her safe», Kean announced.

«Oh.»

«And then I’ll kill her mom.»

«Wh-»

«And _then_ I’ll kill her.»

«I’m starting to believe there was an actual reason why the doctors in Arkham wanted to keep you.»

«And _theeeen_ , when Jim lives alone with her cat, and the cat is a cherished memento of his time with her, I’ll kill the cat.»

Butch blinked.

«Come on. I’ll give you a pass for the ‘throwing grenades into a crowd of civilians’ thing, and the killing of our own guys, but the cat? That’s just cruel. What has the poor thing ever done to you?»

Barbara lifted her eyebrows.

«And it wouldn’t even give a shit about Gordon!», Gilzean insisted. «It’s a cat!»

«You know, sane people have vastly different priorities than yours.»

 

###

 

Harvey stretched on Leslie’s convertible sofa and resolutely closed his eyes, trying not to listen to Jim’s telephonic conversation with the woman. There wasn’t much to hear, really. The bedroom door was closed. The boy was subdued and exhausted and talked in a soft voice, so his partner only heard faint humming. It sounded bad enough. They’d been on the phone for five hours now, and Harvey had kept himself busy, making himself a sandwich, watching TV, and finally going to bed, after it had become clear that Jim would not emerge from the bedroom.

Heroes came and went in Gotham, and when they went, it was either in a box, either battered and broken. Harvey had seen his share of them, brave little knights, full of pride, and dreams, and suicidal urges. The lucky ones had seen the errors of their way quickly, and got with the program. The others - the live one - had very little to look forward to. A date with their AA mentor, sometimes a needle. Visits to the cemetery, to pay their respects to a wife, a mother, and in one case a two years old girl.

Harvey had to hand it to the bitch. As far as making Jim experience the pain of loss without actually _killing_ his loved ones, you couldn’t do more efficient. He had no doubt it was only a sick kind of rehearsal and that she’d go for the real thing if given an opportunity. Which could not happen, because luck was a fickle thing, and even Gordon didn’t have endless supplies of it. Which meant Harvey had to have a little chat with an old pal and knee him in the family jewels until the location of Kean’s hideout of choice was mentioned. Sure, Fish had been fond of Gilzean (and then some), and had gotten Harvey to promise to help the guy out of Zsasz’s hands if he could, but that no longer applied. Gilzean had gotten himself out just fine on his own, and he had _chosen_ to work for the mother of all cunts.

Finding him and making him talk would not be too difficult. No Pennyworth needed either.

But that would be in the morning, if - and only if - Jim didn’t need a babysitter. The blond could probably use a few days of not being left to his own devices. He had been weeping like a child when his partner had found him behind that motel in the middle of nowhere. Jim Gordon, weeping. That didn’t sit right with you. That being said, any escorting or babysitting would be for the next morning. In the meantime, Harvey could as well sleep.

The window opened.

Selina Kyle found herself face to face with a gun. Again.

«Alright, get your sorry ass out of here», Harvey hissed. «Right now.»

«Just wanted some news», she whispered back. «I heard stuff went down today. With Barb’.»

«Yeah, I’m not up for a repeat of your little tirade on how Kean is the best thing since sliced bread», the cop retorted, crossing the room to grab her by the collar. «Out.»

She let herself be lifted, looking up and down at him, in his wife-beater and pajama pants. She couldn’t possibly see in the dark, not to mention judge, but she was a teenager and she did that anyway. The judging part.

«So are you going to throw me out a third story window?» she asked when he pushed her head out.

«How the… There’s no fire escape?»

«No?»

«How did you even climb up?»

«Easily.»

He sighed.

«Just go away before Jim notices you’re here. He’s not in the mood for visitors, I’d say.»

The lights turned on, blinding them both.

«It’ll be fine, Harv’», his partner said from the bedroom door. «Let her in. Well. Don’t push her out.»

He crossed the room and walked into the kitchen. They heard the fridge door open and close, and the clatter of a glass on a countertop.

«If you get bitchy, I _will_ whack the shit out of you», Bullock whispered to the brat. «We clear?»

«Yeah, yeah, I just wanted _news_ , I didn’t come to kill his firstborn.»

«So out of curiosity, who are you concerned about, Jimbo, or Maleficent?»

She shoved him away.

«Jackass.»

He rolled his eyes and dragged her to the kitchen, since he wanted to check on Jim and could not trust her not to steal half of Lee’s valuables. His partner had poured two glasses of milk and opened a can of beer.

«Now don’t you have low expectations of me», Harvey muttered.

Jim chuckled. He looked like death warmed over, but a chuckle was _something._ Certainly better than devastated silence, anyway.

Kyle grabbed her glass and sniffed the milk, then sipped it.

«So what is it she did?» she asked.

«She killed someone I didn’t know and did not kill someone I know», Gordon explained.

«Heeeh… Can I have that translated into ‘understandable’?»

«She staged the execution of my significant other, over the phone, and then she shot one of her men to prove she was not above murder.»

«That’s… Not as bad as what I expected. I expected a ton worse.»

Jim sighed and drank his milk. Harvey, who couldn’t exactly resent being considered an alcoholic, snatched the beer. The brat opened the cupboards and helped herself to the peanut butter, finding herself a spoon to eat it, but no bread. The girl was not afraid of Maria Mercedes Mooney, nor of Carmine Falcone. A little diabetes was not going to send her running.

«Sho whatcha gonna ‘o?» she mumbled with the spoon in her mouth.

«Go to work in six hours and a half? I thought Cats were crepuscular, not nocturnal, by the way.»

«Shure you’re up for it? You look like you’ve ‘een run o’er by a train.»

«Shure I’m up for it.»

«If you shay sho», Kyle replied, finally spitting the spoon out. «And ‘bout Barb’?»

Jim looked down at his hands and bruised knuckles. He said nothing. His face took on a vacant expression.

«And don’t start with the sad looks», Selina snapped, rolling her eyes. «She could have done way, way worse, and you kind of had it coming.»

That was nearly two minutes of civil conversation.

«Aaaand that’s it, you’re out», Harvey intervened, pulling her away.

«It’s fine», Jim said. «She’s right. And I want her opinion, really.»

«You do?» the cop and the burglar replied.

«Yes. You _do_ seem to have a well-defined one, so give it to me.»

«Already did, you stormed off sulking like a little kid.»

«Point.»

Harvey sat down, worried, and watched the exchange. At worst, he could probably knock the girl out in one slap. It would take less than that to get her to shut up.

«And I’ll admit I had it coming», Jim continued. «It was my fault. I’m the reason Barbara is… Different now.»

Kyle stared at him.

«Crazy.»

«Mentally ill.»

«Whatever.»

«And I’ve failed you, and endangered Bruce… And I’ve tried my best, and I have messed up time and time again.»

«You haven’t tried your best», she retorted, shrugging. «You have tried your hardest. That ain’t the same at all.»

The blond mused on that, much more diligently than he had ever mused on his partner’s and Essen’s advice. He took a deep breath.

«Fair enough. So. What do I do, now? What would be my ‘best’? Since you obviously know.»

«Well you might try to _think_ before you _do_ , that should solve ninety-five percent of your problems.»

That hit home. Jim flinched. Then he turned to Harvey.

«I don’t hear you protesting anymore?»

«The hell would I? She has a point.»

It was not like he had not told the exact same thing to the idiot a few times before, probably as many times as Bruce Wayne had dollars. And _now,_ he seemed willing to listen. If _one_ good thing could come out of the day…

Jim let out a long sight.

«Fine. So, Selina. How should I go about things? How do you go about things?»

«Me?» she replied, stunned.

«You.»

« _Me?_ I don’t save people or anything.»

«Except… That isn’t totally true. You protected Bruce. I hear you were taking care of Ivy when she was sick.»

«Well I wasn’t going to let those hitmen get him, and it didn’t really matter if there was someone with me when I ran away. And Ivy…»

She shrugged.

«You still protected them», Gordon insisted. «You did a good job of it. I’m willing to bet you are _still_ watching over Ivy.»

«Not that she requires much watching», Selina muttered.

«You protected them.»

«I _didn_ _’t!_ Well, I _did_ , but it ain’t the same thing!» the brat snapped, annoyed. «I don’t play hero. I don’t save the day! I do _small_ things that I’m sure I won’t fuck up!»

Jim studied her face and didn’t answer. He was analyzing that.

«It’s not rocket science!» Kyle yelled after a few seconds of being stared at, jumping away from Jim’s line of sight as if it had been poking her in the face.

«Basically, you’re like a miniature Harvey», Gordon commented.

«HEY!» his partner shouted.

Kyle wrinkled her nose in disgust.

The older man rolled his eyes.

«She’s a Gothamite, Jim. She’s been here longer than you. She knows her shit.»

 

###


	26. Chapter 26

One foot in front of the other.

That was the way. The terror and the pain, you buried. The sickness in the pit of your stomach, the misery that could make you - a grown man - cry, you ignored. One foot in front of the other, moving in the right direction. Correcting your course. Trying again. So you wanted to curl up and crumble down. So what? What was the point? What good would it do? What would you fix?

Jim was back at his desk, because running away from his mistakes would mean running away from the job, and running away from the job would mean letting David Sirkis to his fate. The man was possibly alive somewhere, with a bomb around his neck, at the mercy of his abductors. It was also likely that he was not the only captive, and Jim wanted them all freed before any more corpses surfaced. They still weren’t sure of what the whole thing was about, but they were trying to figure it out.

«Sex ring?» Harvey suggested. «They’re all attractive, could be models.»

«It _could_ be that, but then why would Sirkis be allowed to get out and flirt with Bakerton? Why even bother with the explosives? There’s no shortage of beautiful sex slaves in Gotham, and the traffickers never go to the trouble of abducting bankers and inventing a story to explain their disappearances. They just snatch them from the Narrows or ship them in from Eastern Europe.»

«Special requests for rich sickos, then? They get people that match a look, a style?»

«It still doesn’t explain why they let a missing person, someone the police was actively looking for, out in public.I mean, Sirkis was probably the one who kidnapped Sabrina Bakerton. Or maybe he lured her out so the abductors could-»

The bullpen’s doors opened, and there was some screaming, the kind you got when a perp was brought in. Except, this time, the man who had walked in with two patrolmen was not cuffed. He was leading the two officers in. His face was bloody, and black and blue.

«I tell you!» he was shouting. «Let’s just call the captain, and we’ll see his face when I tell him James Gordon tried to kill me. I want that guy in JAIL.»

There was a lull as every cop in the room turned to the newcomer. Then the heads turned to Jim. He stared at the man, utterly confused, then stood and walked down the stairs, as calmly as in the most usual of circumstances. There was not the slightest spark of recognition in his accuser’s eyes, which gave him a fairly precise idea of what had happened. He joined the man, closely followed by Alvarez.

«Can we help you, sir?» Jim asked.

«Hell yeah you can. One of your guys just forced his way into my home and tried to fucking _stab_ me. You the captain?»

«No. Captain Essen is currently out, on a crime scene. I’m a detective here. Can you describe the guy who attacked you?»

«Yeah. Blonde. Tall. Well dressed. Had a badge, and knocked on my door, saying ‘Sir, I’m detective Gordon, I worked on your sister’s case’, before he bludgeoned me with a fucking nightstick and dragged me back inside.»

Jim exchanged a look with Alvarez, who had also put two and two together. The vigilante seemed to have found himself a new victim. It most likely meant Jim had arrested the wrong person _more than once_ , and that the vigilante had attempted to stage another reveal.

_Mario Pepper’s death should have taught you something._

«Sir», Alvarez intervened. « _This_ is detective James Gordon. Whoever attacked you was impersonating him, most likely using a name you could recognize from your sister’s case. If you’ll please follow me to a different room so I can take your statement?»

The man took a step back.

«I wanna talk to your captain.»

«We’ll call her in right now, Alvarez promised. His manners were perfect, and his seriousness very convincing. «But the sooner we know what happened, the faster we’ll get our hands on your assailant.»

«I… I guess you’re right.»

A few minutes later, the man - Peter Shepard - was sitting in an interrogation room with a cup of coffee. He was young, in his early twenties, and his record said he was on probation after a few years in Blackgate, where he had been sent for aggravated assault. Alvarez and Collins were talking to him. Harvey and Jim were observing from the next room, through the one-way mirror.

They both remembered Shepard’s sister case. It was recent - as recent as Delores Stephenson’s. In fact, I had been opened on the day Stephenson’s body had been fished out of the river. They had been called on two more crime scenes that afternoon, and Dana Shepard’s had been one of those. She had killed her estranged, meth-addicted husband, shooting him six times at point blank. She had been fairly proud of herself, too. He had been threatening her with rape and repeatedly showing up at her job to harass her, to the point that she had a restraining order against him.

Peter’s sister would be discussed later, however. So far, Alvarez had been asking about the assault and its perpetrator. «Describe the man. How old was he? Any scars or identifying features? Was he injured in the struggle? Did he mention why he was targeting you?»

It was clear that Shepard was reconsidering his visit. He had probably been hoping for a quick buck, some money so Essen could get rid of him, but now he found himself questioned and was growing uneasy. He kept looking at the door and crumpling on his chair, getting defensive and sullen.

«No, he didn’t. He just started beating me up.»

«You say an armed neighbor came to your rescue and ran the attacker out. Which neighbor? Do you have a name, or an address? An apartment’s number?»

«Not really. I’d never seen that guy before. He just came in, pulled ‘Gordon’ away and put a gun in his face, then they both scampered.»

«And you gave that man’s description to the officers who brought you here?»

«Yeah, I did.»

Alvarez nodded, standing up.

«I’ll be checking if the patrols on your block have found your assailant or any signs of him, or of the man who rescued you. I’ll be back soon. Detective Collins will ask you a few more questions, then we will see about placing you under protective custody until we are sure it is safe for you to return home.»

That got Shepard to throw a quizzical look at the door, then at Collins, but he did his best to hide his panic.

Alvarez got out and closed the door.

«What can you tell me on his sister’s case?» he asked to Jim and Harvey.

«Abusive husband got shot by a wife he was separated from», Bullock replied. «He went to threaten her one time too many, she shot him, and didn’t just confess, she was patting herself on the back for doing it. She said he’d been making her life hell.»

«You didn’t look into other suspects?»

«She said she’d done it, her kids were six and four, and she had no boyfriend. We didn’t know about the brother.»

«He doesn’t like it when he’s asked about why he was attacked», Jim pointed out.

«Think he could have killed his sister’s husband?» Alvarez asked. It didn’t sound like a question.

«I definitely do», the blond replied with a sigh. «Ex-convict on probation vs battered wife and mother of two… She’d get accused of voluntary manslaughter, and with her story, she’d get three years, with early release for good behavior. The brother would be lucky to be charged with anything less than a first degree murder, he’d get years in prison, if not life.»

«Exactly what I was thinking», Carlos said. «And I think I’ll ask him just that.»

Harvey drummed his fingers on the wall, lost in thought.

«The thing is, it’s not like the other case. There would not be proof lying around, no history of text messages, no emails. I doubt that Dana lady would have called her brother to come rescue her from her husband’s surprise visit. The guy would have had to cross the whole damn town. And it was her gun.»

«So Peter was probably at his sister’s when our vic’ arrived.»

«Yeah. So how the fuck did the vigilante get _proof_? He wouldn’t kill the guy without solid evidence to send to the press.»

«I still think it’s a cop», Alvarez declared. «The information he got the first time around, and the way he went about it? It screams detective work. Now, what happened to Dana Shepard after her arrest?»

«Released on bail», Jim said. «Weeks later. She got an excellent lawyer through her boss.»

«Check if her phone records were ever pulled. Check if ‘ _you_ _’_ had them pulled. Get a warrant and check both the Shepard’s houses for bugs. A voice recording of them discussing the murder would be proof enough, and I don’t see what else the vigilante could have found. Bullock has a point.»

«Of course I do», Harvey replied. «Let’s go.»

 

###

 

Once upon a time, Fish had taught Liza how to smile and how to wrinkle her brow, how to bat her lashes, how to fake sadness and innocence. Now she was doing it again, except with her own flesh and that of a dozen dead women. She had ample time to practice, and no shortage of mirrors. She was making good progress. She managed sweet, and soft, and angelic. Went she felt like punishing herself a little, she went for that desperate emptiness, that sullen, drugged look that she had so thoroughly scraped away from the girl.

Even without the blue make-up and the long dark hair, Fish managed a decent impersonation of the old Liza, the one who had been ready to beat up a woman half to death for a job she had not even known the description of.

Even without the pink lipstick and the blonde locks, even without the silk shawls, even without the pearls, Fish nailed ‘Angel Liza’, because Fish was skilled at giving herself weapons. Life gave you lemons? You made invisible ink, not lemonade, and you sold what was left of the lemons.

She also nailed ‘destroyed and half-crazy with horror’. Dulmacher ate it up. Men always saw what they wanted to see.

Her recovery was going well. The horrendous pain was here to stay. She consoled herself by imagining how she would share it with Francis and his entire team. They liked scalpels and body parts? They would get scalpels and body parts. In the meantime, she healed. Her scars no longer bled, and the wounds no longer reopened when stretched. She could trash in her bed and try to free herself. She felt a stinging, but she no longer found herself bleeding and tearing up at every joint. It meant it was time to escape.

She just needed an opportunity. She was washed and fed regularly, but the nurses were careful not to let her move. They kept her cuffed if she was to me moved from the bed. Some day, at some point, they would forget a step and Fish would gut them. Mirrors were a wonderful thing to smash people’s heads into: you got to see the look on their face the entire time.

In the end, the nurses didn’t get an opportunity to mess up. Freedom came in the form of a seven year old child. Calvin came back to check on her.

The door opened softly, very softly, with scared caution. The boy was pressing his face to the small opening he was making so he could peek inside. Fish smiled.

«You can just come in, young man.»

He opened the door and slipped into the room, closing it behind him.

«You didn’t get ill?» he asked, visibly worried.

«I didn’t. I told you I wouldn’t. You didn’t have the flu nor a stomach bug, did you?»

«No.»

«Are you still having a case of complications? I’ve been worried.»

«The doctor says yes. I have to be hooked to a machine alllll day. I’m so bored. I just want to be, you know, not sick, so I can go back to Gotham. They sent Logan back. They said he was in a new family now.»

 _One family and then some, in as many parts_ , Fish thought. And if Dulmacher had taken both of the boy’s kidneys, he would enjoy eating his own.

«Are they treating you well?»

«They gave me all of Captain Marvel’s comics. All of them since, you know, the first one.»

«That sounds great.»

«Nah. Captain Marvel is boring and he talks weird, like ‘holy moley’. And his enemies are worms. From Venus.»

«I’m sorry. Worms?»

«Yes. I’d like some Spiderman comics instead. Venom is much better.»

Fish was not altogether familiar with the Spiderman lore. She just nodded.

«You shouldn’t be out of your room», she reminded him. «You _will_ get in trouble.»

«I know… I’ll go.»

«Good. But before that!»

«Yes?»

«My nose itches. Can you untie my hand? It’s driving me crazy!»

Calvin looked at her, nodded, and hopped to her. He fought with the leather straps around her wrist, but managed to open them. She made a point of rubbing every inch of her nose.

«Thank you so much! Ah, that’s much better.»

«Okay! Do I tie your hand back?»

«No, that won’t be necessary, the nurses will do it. Now run off… And don’t tell them you’ve been here! You don’t want to be in trouble, do you?»

 

###


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I skipped several days of updating. I'm a monster (but I saw Ant-Man)
> 
> * The song Barbara is quoting is "No good deed goes unpunished" from Wicked.

«No», Leslie said.

She crossed her arms, stood firm, and stared Jim down.

She was back from New York, in a state of rage she had not felt in… That she had never felt before. She was a nice person. The only time she had used the word «loathing», she had been talking about the group of «mean girls» who had made her life hell in high school (where being pretty and having a great smile didn’t save you if you mentioned an interest in crime stories and forensic science). Loathing. She had not understood the concept before meeting Barbara Kean. Lee was not furious, she was _enraged_. The blonde had carved a piece of Jim’s soul out, and he would never be getting it back. He was terrified, and he was hurt. And - of course - he desperately wanted to keep Leslie safe, and went about it just like you would expect him to.

He took a deep breath and set his jaw, moving back into the sofa and looking up at her.

«A break up is not something you can _disagree_ about», he declared. «Just as I was saying, _I_ don’t think this is working out.»

She raised her eyebrows.

«Then I’m listening. What is wrong? What can I do to fix it?»

The question was a trap. She knew full well he wanted her gone so she wouldn’t be Barbara’s target. She also knew he would not admit it, but would not invent motives either.

He did not answer. She sat down next to him and grabbed his hand with her intact one, not to remind him of the wounds she had earned because she was close to him.

«I won’t leave. I won’t. I want to be by your side. I refuse to let fear chase me away.»

«I’m not afraid.»

«You are. I am. But we can’t let her win. And I don’t think for a second I would be safe if I left you. She will _still_ know you care, Jim», Leslie finished, caressing his palm.

He shivered.

«She would give up.»

«I don’t think so. And I think deep down, neither do you.»

He pursed his lips and looked far into the distance.

«So», Lee continued, «I’m going to stay, and we are going to see how I can keep myself - and this place - safe.»

 

###

 

Giulia smiled as she spoke. Cassidy could not see her, but smiles could be heard over the phone, and it was important for Penguin’s lieutenant to feel at ease while they were negotiating.

«I can easily dislodge Piangi and give you his casino», she said of another of Cobblepot’s men, a businessman lower on the food chain but still at the head of a very interesting piece of property, especially when you were the competition. «What do you say to that?»

Carmine listened to her words and nodded, approving of both the tone and the offer. He kept pacing across her office.

«I don’t need the place», Cassidy bluffed. «Plenty of money, opportunities for advancement.»

«Give him free passage across the Sprang river», Falcone said.

«And to that I can add warehouses on both sides of the Sprang River, and safety for your boats. I know how difficult it is for you to move goods out of Old Gotham.»

The old man gave her a look of approval. Cassidy scoffed.

«Safety for my boats won’t cut it if my men have to cross half of Penguin’s territory to get to Port Adams.»

«Half is a generous estimate. We are talking four blocks. And that’s assuming Cobblepot will manage to retain control over that area. The Port itself is _still_ my family’s territory.»

«And what’s to tell me you’ll keep the port? It’s not been the quietest part of town lately. How many raids were led on the place to try and get rid of your men? How many did you lose?»

«Not quite as many as our friend Oswald pretends», Maroni retorted, grinning. «He has been known to exaggerate his accomplishment. Or flat out invent them.»

«Strange. He says the same about you.»

«I’m not the known triple-crosser, Cassidy.»

Falcone raised a finger.

«Tell him Abernati is interested in the casino», he whispered.

«Let’s return to the topic of the Crown Palace», Giulia said. «You’re aware the place is lucrative. Now, you’re first in line on my list of candidates to run the business, with your prior experience with gambling establishments. But I’ve had other offers, both from my family and from Salvatore’s friends in Chicago.»

«Who?» her interlocutor snapped.

«Well, I suppose it’s not really a secret. I had an interesting meal with Abernati and Cahoorts just yesterday at the restaurant. A fairly public location. I figured you would know already.»

Cassidy didn’t answer, so she pressed her advantage. She didn’t have a choice. They needed him, and his men. The war was over and both sides were holding their territory, but their forces were roughly equal. You couldn’t bring more player ins: you could only cut the city in so many pieces, and there was nothing left to distribute. If someone was to get the upper hand, allegiances had to shift.

«Let’s be honest, Abernati is a competent man, but he’s a loan shark and a fence. He doesn’t have twenty years of experience running gambling hells.»

«He doesn’t. And he’s not competent either, where did you fish that idea?»

«From our ledgers.»

Cassidy took a few moments to find an answer.

«Listen. It’s all a very nice offer. I look forward to seeing that moron completely ruin it. But I was Falcone’s man. Do I enjoy working for the little cunt who ran him off? No. But he’s just a conniving little asswhipe, he’s universally hated, so I’m just gonna sit and wait for someone to lose it and kill him. Might take a while, but it will happen. Joining your family, though? No way. Falcone and Maroni don’t mix.»

Giulia took a deep breath. Carmine held his hand out so she would give him the phone. She hesitated. Having him as a silent partner was one thing. But if word of their collaboration got out, holding the reins of her organization would be difficult. Then again, what choice did she have? She handed him the phone. He pressed it to his ear and smiled.

«Oh, Bart, about that», the old man told Cassidy. «You know what they say. ‘Me and my brother against my cousin, but me and my cousin against a stranger’.»

 

###

 

Jim pinned a row of photographs to the board he had dragged to Sarah’s office, then turned to his captain, who had wanted to be briefed on the Stephenson case.

«Delores Stephenson, Sabrina Bakerton, and David Sirkis. Now, until we found out about Sirkis, we thought the women had been snatched and that their abductor had taken care of leaving letters, sending postcards, and so on. Then we learned that Sirkis had been spotted talking to Sabrina, and we returned to her family and friends. Now, after talking to them… It’s very, very likely that Delores was snatched up to two weeks before her disappearance. She had been wearing a scarf for days, because of a ‘cold’ that was not getting better.»

«So, our abductor would have caught her a first time, placed the explosive necklace, and sent her out to stage a fake trip and conceal her own disappearance?» the captain asked.

«That’s the idea», Harvey replied. «She got orders, and what was she gonna do with that bomb on her?»

Jim pinned a blank sheet to the board and wrote ‘blond man, 40s’.

«We asked around to see if Sirkis was spotted on her campus or around her building, but no one recognized him. That being said, Delores was seen with another man, two weeks before her disappearance. Blond, tall, good looking, looking very serious. He was looking for an apartment for his daughter, and she introduced him as a family friend. He apparently spent an afternoon there, and discussed with Stephenson’s landlord, about available flats in her building. He _also_ wore a scarf.»

Sara frowned.

«He would be a fourth captive?»

«It’s not impossible. That, or the abductor himself, but seeing how David Sirkis approached Bakerton, it’s not unlikely the prisoners are the ones doing the kidnapping.»

«So we’d have two dead, one missing, maybe a second, if not more?» Sarah summed up. «What the hell does our perp _want_ with those people?»

«I think it’s porn», Bullock chimed in.

Their captain lifted her eyebrows.

«Porn?»

«Yeah. They are all good looking. Could have been some normal sex slavery thing, but they wouldn’t let them out, not like that. Not in Burnside with all the preppy kids, anyway. So it could be luxury slaves, maybe. The autopsies showed they were healthy before they died. They didn’t starve, Stephenson had no blatant injuries that weren’t from the blast…»

«More importantly, they are likely getting paired up», Jim explained. «Sirkis didn’t flirt with a rich stranger he could have gotten money from, he went for some broke barista. So Harvey thinks it’s about finding a match for the abductees.»

Jim’s partner nodded.

«I’m not saying our freak - or freaks - have no gender preference, but there’s something about this MO that just doesn’t add up. The whole sending Sirkis to _flirt_ with Bakerton? There’s no reason for that. The moment she got that necklace, she had to comply with everything.»

«Luring her away from the coffee shop?» Sarah commented.

«She got out on her break to smoke in an alley easily accessible by car, with no security cameras», Jim pointed out. «But it was still right behind the coffee shop’s kitchen. Trash is taken out regularly, employees go there for cigarettes, strangers couldn’t have been around long without being spotted… And she didn’t know Sirkis, convincing her to follow him would have been difficult. Abducting her by force made more sense. Grab her, pull her into a vehicle, flee…»

«I still don’t see the link to pornography. Are we even sure it’s a sexual predator?»

Jim nodded, grim.

«The ME examined what was left of Bakerton. He says there’s evidence of intercourse.»

«Which is why I say porn», Harvey explained. «’Cause I get the impression our perp either likes to watch, either he’s providing girlfriend/boyfriend videos on request to some other perp. Kind of like when we got that snuff movie guy back in 97.»

«Christ, this _city_ », Sarah moaned at the recollection.

«So we have been-»

«Hey, Jim!» a woman yelled from the bullpen, making the blond jump.

He turned to the office’s window, chill going down his spine. Barbara’s voice. Zsasz’s words and tone. And Barbara called again, in a singsong voice.

«Jiiii _iii_ mmm!»

Essen went pale and stood. Harvey looked outside in disbelief. Jim just walked out of the room and into the bullpen, then went to stand next to the railing. No one had climbed onto the farthest desk, but Barbara was standing in front of it, in a short cream-white dress. Gilzean was by her side. And Zsasz was there too, of course. Someone had to have told Barbara what the hitman’s exact words had been, when Falcone had sent him to the GPCD. The maniac was holding a cuffed blond man to the floor, with a foot pressed on his back. Thugs were also spread across the room, and Zsasz’s last «sidekick» was waiting at the exit.

His ex waved and smiled.

«Hi Jim!»

Zsasz _had_ briefed her.

The cop thought hard about a reply he could give, and came up empty.

«Barbara», he croaked.

«Relax», she started - and he waited for the _«I’m supposed to take you in alive»_. It didn’t come. - «I’m here to make amends.»

«Amends. It doesn’t look like you are trying to make amends», he commented, pointing at her men.

«Well, I figured you might be a bit miffed about that joke with Leslie, and that you might try to arrest me.»

«Miffed.»

«Miffed.»

« _Miffed_ », Jim repeated again, torn between rage and disbelief.

«You _are_ , aren’t you? I knew it!» - She shook her head, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. - «Now, you know, I’m being the better person here! It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke. If I were you, I would work on improving my sense of humor. I can’t see you making many friends with that sour temper. _Anyway_. I’m being the better person. Making amends.»

Jim looked around. He was not about to say there were fifty cops in the room. He knew they would walk out on him. But Harvey and Sarah joined him, at least. That was something. Essen nodded at Alvarez, who stood and put a hand on his weapon. So did Collins. So did some detective Jim had never heard about.

 _That felt good_.

«Oh my!» Barbara exclaimed. «You have _buddies_. You never had buddies before! Did Harvey befriend them for you?»

«Will you shut up, you bitch?» Bullock helpfully replied.

His voice was not as much aggressive as carefully bored. The blonde ignored him.

«Ah well. I knew some of you might just be crazy enough to try to attack me. I’m not as scary as, say, Victor. Yet», she said, opening her purse.

Jim put his own hand on his own weapon, knowing about the gun she kept in there. But all she took out of the bag was a set of Polaroids.

«So I took my precautions», she explained. «I told myself… I can’t threaten to kill Jim. They wouldn’t care. But everyone likes _Sarah_.»

The captain, who was standing at Gordon’s side, ever so slightly froze. Barbara’s smile turned into a grin.

«And so this my basement», she said, handing a picture to the closest cop. She gave him another. «And this cute little girl is _Anna_. Isn’t she _adorable_?»

Sarah wobbled. Harvey swore under his breath. Several cops jumped forward, there were gaps of indignation. The photo started moving from hand to hand towards the staircase.

«And this is Sofia», Barbara added. «And this is Granny Rosa.»

Anna’s picture made his way up the stairs and to Sarah’s hands. She let out a strangled moan, barely audible. Jim peeked to his right and recognized her five years old daughter on the picture. The girl was playing with dolls, but you could see an armed man in the background.

Barbara would leave free as a bird. Even with Zsasz, even if everyone but Essen, Bullock, Alvarez and Collins had walked out, the cops could have fought. They could have tried. But not with children held hostage.

Sarah collected herself.

«What are the terms of their release?» she asked, in a voice that was barely shaking.

Barbara raised both hands, panicking.

«Oh, they won’t be hurt, I’ll have them dropped at some bus stop after I walk out of here. I wouldn’t hurt a little girl, you know. They’re all sugar and spice and everything nice. But still. I wouldn’t arrest me, if I were you.»

«I want to talk to them.»

«Okay! Butch, call the girls?»

Gilzean complied. He got his phone out and called someone, walking to the staircase. All of the cops on his way let him through.

«Get the girl on the phone», he mumbled as he climbed the stairs. «Which one? Depends, Jack, do you want to get your hand close next to the one who chewed a hole in Kevin’s wrist? Thank you, Jack.»

Rolling his eyes, he handed the phone to Sarah, who calmly pressed it to her hear.

«Anna, sweetie?»

Jim could hear the buzzing of a little girl’s voice. He watched Sarah’s worried face for an instant, then turned to Barbara. She pointed to the man Zsasz was crushing against the floor.

«As I was saying, I’m making amends, I brought you a gift.»

«A gift.»

She grinned. It was horrendous. Her face looked like it was made of plastic, so covered in foundation and concealer you couldn’t see an inch of skin. Then again, her bruises were unlikely to have healed. Jim’s knuckles were still on the yellowish side.

Zsasz bent down and pulled their prisoner to his knees. Several cops gasped.

«So, I was stalking you», Barbara explained. «And aren’t you the most popular girl in school, Jim, but I noticed _I was not the only stalker_. There was this man too! So I had _him_ stalked. Just in case.»

Some of the cops were talking in hushed tones. Jim caught a «Kyle» and «patrolman». Sarah, who was still talking to her children, took one look at the man and froze. Harvey was whispering a continuous stream of curses.

Everyone knew that man.

Jim tried to use the stairs, but Gilzean blocked his way, clicking his tongue.

«Listen to the lady», the thug advised.

The detective set his chin but obeyed. Barbara chuckled.

«It’s strange, you know? I thought he was internal affairs, when we found out he was a cop. Officer Kyle Paxton.» - The name was familiar, but Jim could not place it. «Lowly patrolman. Likes decaf coffee. Loves jelly beans, but won’t eat the green ones. You know, plain _booooring_. Then, lo and behold, he goes to knock on someone’s door and attempts to kill the guy who opens the door. That’s one hell of a plot twist.»

 _Peter Shepard_ , Gordon thought. _The vigilante_. But that realization happened at the back of his mind. Mostly, he was trying to recall where he had heard about an officer Paxton. He had heard the name before. It was important.

Harvey groaned and ran a hand on his face.

«Shit», he murmured.

«Long story short», Barbara continued, «my man had moral objections to the whole murder thing, so he stopped officer Paxton from stabbing his victim, then captured him and brought him to us. And we had a chat. And it turns out he’s some sort of vigilante. Killing people you’ve failed to arrest.»

 _Paxton, Paxton, Paxton._ Everyone in the room seemed to have figured out who the cuffed policeman was, as well as his reasons.

«I thought that didn’t sound very legal», Barbara explained with a shit-eating grin, as she made her way across the room, «so I figured I’d let you arrest him and handle the issue.»

She walked up the stairs, brushing Gilzean’s shoulder when he let her pass, then she smiled to Jim. From up close, you could see the violet shades under the makeup. Her face was still swollen. She caressed his chin. He recoiled.

«He told us why he did it», she said. «And it’s so very sad.»

Sad. _Sad._ And it hit Jim. Officer Paxton, not Kyle, but Debra. Officer Debra Paxton who had died in the GCPD’s parking lot, at the hands of Victor Zsasz, after Montoya and Allen had saved Jim. Debra Paxton, who had been survived by her parents, her son, and a younger brother, also on the force. Jim had not gone to her funeral. He had been warned he was not welcome. But you put a foot in front of the other and you kept moving, didn’t you? You didn’t let guilt drag you down.

«Kyyyyllle!» Barbara called. «Why don’t you tell James why you did all of this?»

Paxton spat on the floor, but Zsasz grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. The young cop still tried to shake free and to kick him, but the hitman bashed his head against a desk. He forced him to look towards the balcony.

«Tell them, Kyle», Zsasz commanded. «Be _nice_. It will go muuuch better for you.»

Paxton panted for a moment, then clenched his teeth, and looked straight into Jim’s eyes.

«Because you’re a SHITTY COP!» he screamed. «You have NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU ARE DOING. And you think you’re so _great_ when you get in the news for arresting some big name freak, AND EVERY TIME YOU SCREWED UP GETS PUSHED UNDER THE CARPET.»

He stopped, panting again, wiping the drool at the corners of his lips over his shoulder. Jim stared at him. Some of the other cops did the same. Most of them, however, were looking up a Jim himself, and he could feel their eyes. Paxton pointed at Zsasz with his chin.

«He… He killed my sister», the young man said. But _you_ , Gordon? You caused it to happen. _He_ was here for _you_. AND YOU RAN. YOU FUCKING RAN. Did you even _try_ to save Debra? Did you even _THINK_ of it, you asshole? Or was she an afterthought like everyone _else_ you screwed over?»

Barbara snickered.

«I thought of it», the detective replied. He had. «There was nothing I could have done. Not me, not Montoya, not Allen. There was _no_ crossing that parking lot.»

There was a whisper next to him - Barbara’s «Liar, liar, pants on fire» - and some mumbling from the cops in the pen. Sarah was still talking with her daughter, in hushed tones, though she was not missing a second of what was going on. Kyle snorted.

«Yeah? You sure of that? Because last time I checked, it didn’t rest heavy on your conscience, did it? I heard you got _real_ friendly with Falcone. THE MAN WHO SENT _HIM_ », he shouted, thrashing to turn to Zsasz.

_The next time you figure someone is the_ _«best bad man we have», you might want to remember things like this, Jim._

«Alright, that’s enough drama!» Barbara cut in. «Shut him up.»

She was quickly obeyed. Paxton was gagged and pushed to the floor again. She turned to Jim and gave him a curious look.

«One question haunts and hurts, too much, too much to mention.»*

The detective turned to her, feeling empty, and waited.

«Were you only seeking good, or just seeking attention?» she asked. He _knew_ that song. He had seen the show with her. «Is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye?»*

Strangely enough, he remembered the lyrics, even though he hated musicals.

_Sure, I meant well. Well, look what well-meant did._

«I don’t know», he replied.

She raised her eyebrows.

«Okay then. So, are you going to arrest him, or do you plan to stand here all day?»

He clenched his fists and thought of Sarah’s daughters.

«I will.»

She grinned and ran down the stairs, joining Zsasz, and tapping her foot impatiently. Jim started following her, slowly, and nearly froze when Gilzean whispered something to Sarah.

«I took the firing pins off. Neat trick. None of the guns around the girls can shoot, just so you know», he said, taking his phone back from the captain.

Gordon could not see her reaction. He just kept walking, and heard Gilzean’s footsteps behind him. He crossed the bullpen and crouched next to Paxton. Then he arrested him, reciting his Miranda rights. He tried to let Alvarez lock him up, but Barbara would have none of it. She clicked her tongue and pushed the other detective away, staring intently at Jim. So he locked Paxton up too, taking the gag away.

«Another freak for the front page», the younger man whispered. «Congratulations.»

«I’m not after the glory», the detective replied, as softly as he could.

«What you’re after doesn’t matter», Paxton retorted. «What matters is what you do, and what you do is _shit_. Just look at _her_ », he finished, glaring at Barbara.

Jim walked away, and « _her_ _»_ joined him.

«I hope you’re no longer miffed», she told him.

He looked at her and tried to see if there was something left, underneath the monster.

«I helped you out, and it was a _big_ favor», she said. «I hope you’ll remember this.»

The detective thought of Debra and Kyle Paxton, of the cases he had botched, of Selina and Bruce being chased by assassins. And of everything in the Ogre’s case file. And Barbara’s.

«I will», he said.

She grinned.

«I knew it. _I knew it._ Alright, boys! Let’s go!»

Her men started moving towards the exit. Gilzean joined her, putting a hand on her back, and escorted her to the door. Zsasz and his partner closed the march.

 

###


	28. Chapter 28

There was only one easily available gun in the clinic - the one under Dullmacher’s desk, in his office - so it had been Fish’s first target after her escape.

She had freed her arm, legs and feet, then unscrewed the strap Calvin had opened from the bed, dropping the screw on the floor and letting it roll away. As for the strap itself, she had thrown it in a corner of the room. Then she had made her way down the corridor, wrapping her hospital gown around her, and tried to find a weapon. She had easily found found scissors, along with several packs of bandages, on a medical cart. Then she had gotten her hands on a nurse who was getting out of a patient’s room.

«Don’t scream», she had warned the woman as she grabbed her from behind, pushing one of the blades of the scissors into her mouth. «Or I swear you’ll get such a special smile Francis’ skills won’t be enough to make you pretty again.»

Five minutes later, the woman had been dead and her body neatly packed in an empty supplies box in the closest exam room. Her slit throat was bandaged so blood would not pool around the box, and Fish had cleaned the stains on the floor. Then she had put on her pristine nurse uniform and made her way to the Dollmaker’s office, snatched his gun, and vanished.

She knew all about vanishing. People tended to forget about it as, for the last twenty years of her life had been spent making herself as striking as possible, but she had made herself disappear for years of her life. When her mother had pushed her through the window, as a child of eight, with the sole instruction of «never letting her father get his hands on her», she had ran. And she had hidden, nesting under trash in the sewers, sleeping on the roofs, slipping into attics to curl into a ball under discarded furniture. She had been a terrified little girl, cowering in fear at the idea of being discovered and brought back to a father who saw her as stock, just like he did her mama. Yes, Maria had known how to hide. If you could crawl there, if you could fit, if you could be very silent, then you would live.

Now, of course, as a child, she had been hiding from cops, tweakers and pimps. Dullmacher’s private security force was better trained, more dangerous, and actively looking for her. Going to the basement was out of the question: the guards would go straight to the prison, expecting her to seek help from the other captives. It was too cold and snowy outside to hope to survive a night, not to mention the island was small and offered little in the way of shelter. So Fish found herself in the attic, walking in larger footsteps on the dusty floor not to leave a trail. She stashed the food and water she had collected - both of those being readily available around the patients - at the bottom of a trunk of old bedsheets. She carefully rearranged the furniture and boxes around a tiny space where she could only fit curled up in a tiny ball. She hid there with two bottles of water and two cups of strawberry yogurt, closed the opening with a last box, and waited.

The guards came and went.

 

###

 

Oswald had expected to spend an excellent day. That had been the plan. He was to enjoy an afternoon lounging in his living room, waiting for the news of the very discreet bank heist planned for the afternoon, the one where three separate bank tellers and three security guards, not to mention the bank’s manager, had been blackmailed into facilitating the way to the vaults. So many people thought they could have both children _and_ important jobs.

Then he had heard the news, and the plan had changed to «murdering Victor Zsasz», or at least «sharply reminding him of his allegiances».

Then his guards had dragged a very disgruntled, very cantankerous Jim Gordon to his office.

«James. What, pray tell, is the meaning of this?» the crime lord said, pointing at his slightly disheveled guards.

They hadn’t fought Gordon. Not really. But words had been exchanged, and there had been some pushing and shoving.

The detective set his jaw and straightened his spine.

«Where is she?»

«Considering the events of the day, I’ll assume your mean ‘Barbara Kean’. I have no idea. As you very well know, I’ve been looking for her since she fled the mansion. Imagine my surprise when it turns out the very man I had set on her trail is under her employ. I tend to forget Victor is muscle for hire.»

«How convenient that you know nothing about the whole thing», Gordon muttered.

Oswald stared at him with cold rage.

«Do you think me callous enough to work with someone who would abduct your captain’s young girls?»

The blond hesitated, doubt talking hold.

«I _just_ crossed paths with Miriam Loeb», he commented. «It does not exactly bolster your point.»

Cobblepot sighed.

«She’s a guest. A well cared for guest, if I might add. She’s definitely happier here than locked up in an attic, or in Arkham. She greatly enjoys my mother’s company, she gets to take walks in the park, and she has everyone to talk to all day long, as opposed to ‘when someone remembers to bring her food’. What, exactly, is your problem with that?»

«You… Might want not to leave her alone with your mother. I’m not sure it’s safe.»

Oswald rolled his eyes.

«They both have bodyguards, Jim.»

«And I’m not totally sold on the idea that you’ve taken her in out of the goodness of your heart. How compliant is Loeb, exactly?»

«James. You’re comparing apples and oranges. Loeb has nothing in common with Essen, and Miriam is in her thirties. She’s not a five years old girl. There’s a _modicum_ of ethics to be respected in this business, Jim. Take Giulia Maroni. A few weeks ago, Franco Bertinelli - one of Salvatore’s lieutenants - attempted to use her sons as hostages. She punished him. She killed her adult sons. But she let his wife and little girl leave. Hurting them would have been both out of line and unnecessary.»

The cop studied his face.

«You actually had no idea Zsasz would be involved.»

« _Of course I did not_. Kean’s vendetta does not benefit me in the slightest! I can’t _stand_ the woman. The _one_ time I attempted to help her out by saving her from Arnold Flass, she repaid me by slitting someone’s throat in my _home_! I do not work with her, I have no plan to, and I can’t wait for the day she returns to Arkham, where she so clearly _belongs_.»

The logic of it seemed to make his way through Gordon’s addled mind.

«I trust captain Essen’s girls are fine?» Oswald said. «I hear they were found unharmed?»

«Unharmed and covered in Claire’s jewellery», Jim replied, still thinking.

He was no longer aggressive, though not calm by any stretch of the mind.

«I will get in touch with Victor», the crime lord announced. «And I’ll attempt to get him to reveal where Miss Kean is hiding. I might have the upper hand here. I’m his main employer, and he didn’t exactly endear himself to the Maroni.»

«If you get news, _any_ news, call me», Gordon asked. «She needs to be stopped.»

«I couldn’t agree more», Oswald replied, though he didn’t promise to call the cop. «I’ll see what can be done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, but I’m afraid I can entertain you much longer. I’m on a tight schedule.»

One of the guards put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder to get the message through. The cop jumped, ready to strike, but just made his way to the door.

«I’ll be in touch», he said.

«I’m sure you will. _Glad to be of help_ », Oswald replied, because he had not heard the words «please» nor «thanks».

James nodded and let himself be escorted out.

Cobblepot closed the door, walked to the window, and watched as the detective car drove away. Then he called Zsasz.

«Victor. My friend. I hear you’ve been rambunctious. I can’t say I approve.»

«It was a job», the maniac replied. «Don’t take it personally.»

«I don’t. That being said, since you seem to be in dire need of funds, to the point you can’t afford to turn down the most ridiculous contracts… I’ll go ahead and offer you some work. I believe it won’t prove as difficult as the execution of Giulia Maroni.»

There was a pause.

«I’m listening», the hitman replied.

«Bring me Kean. Bring me Gilzean. I want them at the mansion by the end of the day. Alive, for dear old Butch, and alive and _well_ for Miss Kean. Do not delay. Do not disappoint me.»

 

###

 

You didn't know what terror was until Zsasz had dragged you to his basement. You didn't. When you did, you didn't even care that you had pissed yourself even before his car was done parking in front of his hideout. You didn't care that you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. You just wanted to die.

Butch couldn’t take another _second_ strapped to that operating table.

He should not have been taken by surprise. Barbara’s little performance at the GCPD had been bound to piss Cobblepot off. But she had seemed so set on it, after talking to Kyle Paxton, that she had not listened to his protests at all. She had called Zsasz and organized a team - she had learned a lot by observing Butch, even though she never seemed to pay attention to what he tried to get through her thick skull - and located Essen’s girl all on her own. Well. She had needed some help to select suitable «babysitters», and to order her team around, and more generally to handle the logistics of the whole thing. She had been very satisfied, too. «Why, Mister Gilzean, I believe we make a good team!», she had told him. He hadn’t been overjoyed that she had hired Zsasz, but the psychotic bastard had gone his own way when they had left the GCPD, which had been good.

After that, they had spent a few hours shopping - jewelry, glitter, strawberry flavored chapstick - and gifted all of that crap to the girls and their grandma before dropping them at random in the Diamond District. Then Butch had driven Barbara back to the loft, and fallen asleep in the sofa while the woman watched American Idol.

He had woken to a gun again is temple. So had Kean, right after him, but she hadn’t let that faze her. It was surprising, really, how many knives she could hide under those skimpy dresses. Zsasz’s girl needed stitches, and possibly a new ear. But a few blades were useless against ten men and as many gun, so both Gilzean and his boss had found themselves bound and gagged in Zsasz’s van, to be dragged at Penguin’s feet. Five minutes into the trip, Butch had lost it, totally, because he knew where he was going to end up. When Victor pushed him into Cobblepot’s office, Butch’s was shaking so bad his cuffs were rattling. Then, his gag was removed, and all he could hear was the chattering of his teeth.

«Gilzean. Miss Kean. A pleasure to see you again», Oswald had said. «You will have to forgive the circumstances of your visit, but I felt a little chat was long overdue.»

Kean had frowned.

«Chat. You could have _called_ , Ozzie.»

Butch had whimpered at that. She did not care about being tortured - she did not care about anything - but he had been about to pass out from fright.

Penguin had ignored the nickname, which meant he considered the punishment he had in store for the blonde covered the insult.

«Yes. Chat. See, _Barbara_ , you haven’t been operating in this city for long so - of course - you are not well acquainted with the rules around here. I figured you needed to be informed of them.»

She had blinked and apologized profusely.

«Have I caused problems for you? I’m so very sorry. I didn’t think my little tricks could have repercussions. I mean, I haven’t done much, have I? A little joke. A little favor for James.»

Oswald had clicked his tongue.

«Let’s go straight to the point. Gotham belongs to _me_. You will not rob people, you will not abduct cops, and you will most certainly not attack the GCPD without my express approval.»

«Alright, alright. I understand. I will ask for permission! I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye! I’m so, so, so sorry!»

Her tone had sounded genuine enough.

«I don’t believe your word will be enough, Barbara. I’m not even sure you have enough brains left to remember that promise by the time you walk out the door. Which is why I feel the blame lies elsewhere. I think dear old Butch should have informed you of the rules. He hasn’t. As I don’t believe he would willfully cross me, I’ll assume he _forgot_ about the state of things… Which means he will have to be _reminded_ of the ways of the world.»

Gilzean’s memories were hazy after that. He had started screaming. He had tried to grab one of Penguin’s mens guns so he could shoot himself.

«- mean?» Barbara had said.

«I _MEAN_ _»,_ Cobblepot had screamed to cover the howling, «that I’m _granting you a refund_. Here’s what will be happening…»

Butch remembered thrashing and weeping and being hit on the back of the head, while Oswald talked. Then Barbara had started wailing.

«Nononononononooooooooo! Butch! Please, _please_ , I’ll do _anything_!»

It made no sense, because Barbara couldn’t feel fear. She couldn’t fear anything. That was part of her charm. But she had been crying all the same - faking it like a pro - and begging, and bargaining.

«What do you want me to do? Please, please, don’t take him away. What do you _want_ , Oswald?»

But Gilzean had still been dragged out of the room and to Zsasz’s van.

And now he was back in his basement and he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

 

###


	29. Chapter 29

Jim parked in front of Leslie’s, leaned back into his seat, and took a deep breath. He had not managed to track Barbara down, though he assumed Cobblepot would be much more successful. He also feared that, in the unlikely event the two of them were not accomplices, Penguin would kill Barbara if he got his hands on her. The more Jim thought of it, the more he suspected they were working together. If she was going around robbing collectors and stealing masterpieces, she needed someone who could move millions around. And she was working with both Gilzean and Zsasz. That wasn’t suspicious _at all._ It was a tidbit of information he’d have to pass to MCU.

He called Harvey, who had been trying to track down Gilzean.

«Hey, any luck?» they asked in one voice as soon as Bullock picked up.

Then there was a silence as they tried to figure out who should talk first.

«None on my side», Jim said. «I went to Cobblepot, he ‘doesn’t know’, so I waited to see if he called Zsasz in, so I could tail h-»

«You _what_?»

«I figured he could possibly be tailed to Barbara’s hideout. What else do we _have_?»

«Don’t go and follow the homicidal maniac! Christ. What the hell were you thinking?»

«That there was a slim possibility that Penguin would send him to murder her.»

«Which would save us all a _lot_ of trouble. Leave the hitman alone. Let me track Butch down.»

«Any luck on your side?»

«Nooooooo!» came a girl’s voice in the background.

«Is that Selina?» Jim said.

«Yeah», Harvey mumbled. «The brat dropped on me when I stopped for food and _demanded_ a hot-dog.»

His version of the events obviously did not agree with Kyle’s.

«I didn’t _demand_ , I said I help you track the guy down but that it didn’t come for free!»

«Anyway, I have nothing yet», Bullock explained. «Usually, I’d go to the club, he spent ten years with his ass glued to a barstool there, but of course when you need him, he’s nowhere near the place.»

«Just call me if you hear something and I’ll join you.»

«Yeah. Is someone still watching Penguin’s place? I know the cap’ sent men, but I don’t see the little freak allowing them to hang around.»

Sent men was an understatement. Sarah had dispatched a few teams, Carlos a few others, and a great many cops had taken it upon themselves to start looking for Barbara on their own time. People liked Essen. With Maroni dead and Falcone retired, no one cared about her arresting Flass anymore. Her kids were cute. And she was a _cop_. A good part of the GCPD was closing ranks around her.

«I’ve be keeping in touch with Alvarez», Jim said. «Sarah went home, he has been handling everything. From what he tells me, one of the teams has been nicely asked to leave, and the others can’t get close. Cobblepot has half an army patrolling around the place.»

«Makes sense, he’s waiting for Maroni to hit back.»

The blond sighed. Right. Penguin had tried his best to start a new gang war. He had nearly forgotten about that.

«Anyway, they saw cars going in and out, but they’re posted too far to see whose, let alone to check the license plates. If they get more, I’ll let you know.»

«BUY YOUR OWN FRIGGING FRIES, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!» his partner screamed into his ear. Jim nearly dropped his phone. «Sorry. Damnit. Yeah, let me know. I’ll call you later anyway.»

«Don’t kill the girl, Harv’!»

«Don’t tempt me», his friend replied, hanging up.

Jim took a deep breath and spent five minutes looking at his phone, too exhausted to even try to get out of the car. He was hanging on by a thread. He kept pulling at that thread, hauling himself up, dragging himself forward, and he wasn’t sure he knew why. Debra Paxton, thirty-two, mother to a boy of nine. And how many more? She had been an afterthought, like everyone else he had screwed over. Bruce. Selina. Leslie. Barbara. _Barbara_.

He hated her. He did. The monster she was, every word out of her mouth, the sick game with the lyrics - « _I didn_ _’t think what I told you mattered at all, it never did»_ \- but most of all he hated her because if he stopped, he would not be able to take the guilt. She was dead, and she was haunting him, but she was dead and it was his fault, and he would pay. At least he hoped she was dead. Maybe, somewhere underneath those thorns and splinters and shards of ice, there was something left of her, somehow. Jim knew how to drown fear in fury, how to cover pain with rage, how to build walls so strong no one could see your weaknesses, not even you. It was a good armor, one you didn’t want to let go of.

_Of course, she_ _’s there underneath. It’s too personal not to be._

He had come to the point where he could only summon anger in short bursts, where his mental walls were falling to pieces. He was _feeling_ again, and he hated it. It was much easier to feel only when he allowed himself to. You busied yourself, you held your mother’s hand, you woke up early in the morning for PE and drills and patrol and then you ran through battlefields and over corpses and you held some friend’s hand while he was bleeding out, only to realize that he couldn’t feel it because his arm was severed at the elbow but you didn’t allow yourself to break because you knew about blood and lethal injuries and your mother had dragged you to therapy for six years and it hadn’t helped as much as just shutting it out, so you did and it worked for everything, be it war or your father’s burial where the casket had been closed, absolutely closed, and then the horrors of Gotham that would punch you in the gut and made you slip a bit, a bit, and a bit more, but you just _pushed it down_ and didn’t talk about it « _so please stop asking questions, Barb_ _’»_ , and you put one foot in front of the other and tried to do good, but it only worked up to a point. The point where he could only summon so little anger he felt like curling up into a ball and sleeping most of the time, and - every now and then - weeping.

Scottie had recommended trauma counseling. «Leslie. You. Together. Separately. Counseling. GO». Lee was already going. Jim didn’t see the point. It had not helped after his father’s death. It wouldn’t help now.

He forced himself to get out of the car, then forced himself to start walking. He straightened his spine. He squared his jaw. Then he walked to Leslie’s building and patted himself to find his key. An old woman walked up to him, looking confused and lost. She had to be in her nineties, with sparse violet-gray hair, a silk scarf over her shoulders, and an old-fashioned coat with a houndstooth pattern.

«Excuse me, young man. Could you please help me? I-I believe I’m lost.»

«Of course, ma’am. What seems to be the problem?», Jim replied, habit kicking in.

«I am looking for Stillwell Street. I’m trying to get to my grandson’s, but I think I got lost. I had to take the bus, see. I used to have a license, but they took it away. Bad eyesight, they said. So here I am, taking the bus, and I think I got the stop wrong.»

The cop thought about it. Stillwell street was two blocks - and one bus stop - away. It wasn’t a long walk, but it was Gotham city, and the woman appeared a bit more than just physically lost.

«It’s not far. I can show you the bus that goes that way. I’ll wait for it with with you.»

«Don’t be nonsensical! Do I look like an infirm? Just point me at the direction, and I-I’ll go. I can walk just fine! Young people nowadays. Always relying on motors. Fresh air would do you good. You are very pale.»

«Then maybe I could accompany you?» he offered, worried. «You are right. Stillwell street is not _that_ far. I believe you got out of your bus one stop too early.»

The old woman stared at him.

«Bus? I took no bus! I just walked out to buy bread. I don’t know what nonsense you’re inventing now, Jonathan, but I’ll be heading home! I have no time for silliness.»

It was Jim’s turn to stare, and pale.

«Mrs», he said, getting his badge out. «I’m detective Gordon, from the GCPD. Can you please-»

She walked away from him, quite swiftly for her age.

«I said ‘no time for nonsense’, boy, and you’re too old for toys.»

He hurried after her.

«What is your name, Mrs.? Can you please give me your address?»

«I’m Grandmother to you, young boy, and you know full well where I live.»

«Stillwell street?» Jim hazarded.

If she was confusing him with her grandson, maybe he was living in her own house.

«Of course, Stillwell street. Your mother was born there, you little rascal. You should know full well.»

Jim sighed and followed her. It wasn’t such a long walk, and her pace was energetic. If he was lucky, her family was actually living in the house she was trying to get to, and her grandson would be able to take care of her.

«What’s your name, Mrs?» he insisted.

«Adora. Adora Valentine. And who are you?» she replied, only vaguely curious, with no recollection of having mistaken him for ‘Jonathan’.

«Detective Gordon, Mrs. From the GCPD.»

«You look like a dependable man. Well dressed. My daughter would like you.»

«I, uh, I’m very flattered, Mrs. Valentine», he replied.

«So, what does a detective do, exactly?»

«Well, Mrs., I’d say it depends of the case…»

He gave her a heavily romanticized version of his daily activities, and she led him to a little house at the back of a derelict property. It had been cozy, once upon a time, but it looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the early twenties. Jim thought it was abandoned for a moment, then Mrs. Valentine got the key out of her purse and opened the door.

«Please come right in», she invited. «I’ll make us some tea.»

He nodded, hoping he would find her grandson inside, or at least some other member of her family. If not, he would call the precinct. He walked in, stopping in the hallway, and caught a faint motion behind his back. He whirled just in time to see the man who had been hiding behind the door slam it. Then Mrs. Valentine tased him.

 

###

 

Barbara let herself be escorted back to her loft, weeping all the way through like some _herself_ in Falcone’s hands. She curled up on the sofa as Cobblepot’s men - Gabe, and a tall blond in the mandatory gray suit - discussed her state.

«Think she learned her lesson?» the fat ass asked.

«Sure looks like it. Heh, she’s lucky, the boss went soft on her. He’s not always that forgiving», the blond remarked as they left.

«Take care of yourself, Miss Kean», Gabe advised her as they walked out the door.

He studied her face. She started wailing and curled up some more, until the door closed. Then she jumped up and slowly wiped her face against her shoulder and arm, leaving a trail of makeup over her skin and clothes. She rubbed the foundation and concealer away from her face with both hands, the pain of her bruises a welcome sting.

«I mean that I’m granting you a refund», the little creep had told her. _Refund._ She would give him a _refund_. «Here’s what will be happening. You are going to go on your merry way, stealing artwork, selling it, sharing the profits, and then I might consent to let your companion live.»

She walked to the bedroom and stripped, throwing her fancy clothes away.

_If you sit around and let them get on top, you might as well be saying you think that it_ _’s OK.*_

Her junkie outfit had worked just fine when she had stalked Jim - the Cardinals hoodie, the old jeans, the extremely expensive and comfortable sneakers she had covered in dirt. So she put them on and went to the bathroom to clean her face - not too much - and took a step back and looked at herself in the mirror. Bruised, battered, broke and broken.

_And THAT_ _’S NOT RIGHT.*_

She went for her knives and hid them, in her pockets, in her sleeve, against her calf, _elsewhere_.

«And if that’s not _right,_ you have to put it _RIGHT_ »*, she growled, slamming the bathroom’s door as she got out.

How convenient that everything had already been put into words by someone else. She found it really validated her feelings.

She walked to the window and looked down to the street. As she suspected, there was a car waiting for her, and a man was watching both the building’s door and its fire escape.

People thought she was fragile and helpless but _no longer_. «I’ve known _parents_ », Butch had said. «Out of the house for several hours a week». But that had been the singing. Good little girls also played the piano and the violin. And they danced. And they took gymnastics classes.

_All escapes_ _…_

«… Start with the click of a lock»*, she whispered as she opened the balcony door and ran to the fire escape.

Several stories underneath, Cobblepot’s thug looked up and waited for her to climb down. She was not going down. There were no steps up - _A storm can begin with the flap of a wing_.* - so she jumped from the stairs - five seconds of free fall - to grab the ledge of the closest balcony, on the adjacent building, and heaved herself up. Sure, it had been a few years since she had last swung from uneven bars, but she did yoga. And she jogged. And she lifted weights. And she put herself through hundreds of push-ups a week so she would be thin and pretty for her handsome boyfriend (who had left anyway, but who cared?), and then some.

All in one, climbing up was easy. The steps of _this_ building’s fire escape led to the roof, and from there she could go anywhere. People thought she was too dumb to learn. Well, she was blonde. She was pretty. Of course they did. She could listen and watch just fine and Selina thought she was the only person who could climb. Once upon a time, Barbara had been afraid of heights, so she could not have followed, that was all. _No longer._

«Just because you think that life’s not fair…» she recited as she raced across the roof, «it doesn’t doesn’t mean you have to grin and bear it…»*

The song got her through a few blocks, as she kept mixing the lyrics up. She ended up slipping into an upscale flat, a few streets away from the loft. Of course, a woman _had_ to be present, and _had_ to scream when Barbara walked into her living room, so the blonde stabbed her in the belly and slit her throat. _Sometimes you have to be a little bit naughty*._ Then she stole the idiot’s phone and called Willy. She gave him very clear instructions (he wasn’t big on understanding the underlying meanings of a conversation, so clarity was in order). She found her victim’s car keys, her wallet, and matches. An hour later, the building was burning down and Barb’ was getting out of the woman's Audi, in some industrial complex downtown. She met with Willy and three dozen hirelings in the basement of an abandoned lamp factory.

She explained the plan. She got protests.

«It’s suicide», one of the thugs pointed out.

«Of course it’s suicide», she retorted. «That’s why I’m giving you all a two hundred grands incentive if you survive. And it’s not _that_ complicated, really. Raid the place. Kill _everyone_. Spare the women. Now… The first one to the weapons crate gets the rocket launcher.»

 

_###_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The song is "Naughty", from the musical Matilda. Yes. That Matilda. 
> 
> Yes, I know, it's always musicals.


	30. Chapter 30

Jim woke in the back of a van, with his wrist, knees and ankles wrapped in duct tape, mouth taped shut. He tasted blood. He had done his best to fight, even after being tased, and his abductor had been forced to punch back. Jim had not done much damage. He had not been in a state to.

The van was moving - slowly, as far as he could tell - but there were no windows, so there was no way to see where they were nor where they were going. He couldn’t even look at the seats: a steel divider had been summarily welded between the back and the front of the van, only leaving a small opening to allow the use of the rear view mirror.

He could hear voices, though: the inane, constant chatter of Mrs. Valentine, and the occasional terse answer from her so-called “grandson”. The rumbling of the motor and the noise of the road made it hard to understand what they were saying. As for the sounds he heard… No city traffic, no honking, no music, just the asphalt under the wheels, and the regular _whoosh_ of street lamps. They had left town. Jim couldn’t see his watch. He couldn’t tell how long the trip had been nor guess how far from Gotham they were. He kept listening, trying to get any hint of their location. The van turned on a dirt road, going slower, shaking as it rolled over rocks and holes. It stopped a few minutes later.

“Get him inside, Nate, dear”, Mrs. Valentine said. “I’ll see if Sophie managed to calm the poor girl down.”

Jim listened to her footsteps as she walked away, then the doors opened and “Jonathan” entered the van. He shut the doors behind him. The cop thrashed. His abductor just stepped over him and dropped a duffel bag next to them. He peeled the tape that covered Jim’s mouth away.

“You son of a bitch”, the detective hissed.

Jonathan unzipped the bag.

“Shut up”, he muttered, giving Jim a hollow look. “She’ll be in the control room soon enough. You _listen to Sophie_. She’s a bitch but she will keep you alive.”

There was a beep from the bag, and the man rummaged through it. He pulled something black out of it, a sort of metallic chain covered in dark cloth, with plastic parts where -

Jim recognized an explosive necklace and tried to roll away, trying his best to kick Jonathan despite his bound legs. He did manage to push the doors open and rolled out of the van, dropping onto a paved ground. His abductor swore and pushed him down, forcing the necklace on. The device locked with a click. Then, the kidnapper released Jim.

“Don’t run. Get out of the control room’s range and it will blow”, he said.

“If you think for a second-”

Jim went silent when he saw the man’s expression, the emptiness of it, the absolute resignation. He was not wearing a necklace, but his throat was chaffed and scarred. So he was a prisoner too, just restrained in some other, less blatant way.

“What now?” the cop asked.

Jonathan’s face twitched, then he smiled, going from bland and exhausted to handsome in the span of a blink.

“I’m so glad you decided to move in, James. You’ll see, it’s such a nice neighborhood, very quiet. You are renting number one, aren’t you? I’ll show you around.”

The detective stared at him. His theories about Delores Stephenson and Sabrina Bakerton had never included ‘moving in’ and having ‘neighbors’. To be fair, they had not included old ladies faking dementia either.

Jonathan pushed him away from the van. Jim finally saw the house - the manor - and recognized the place immediately. He knew it. Everybody knew it. Just like Wayne Manor, it had been looming over Gotham City for centuries. It was the old Crowne family home, which meant Adora Valentine had to be Margaret Crowne, grandmother of tech magnate Robert Crowne and retired CEO of Crowne Industries.

That explained quite a few things.

 

###

 

Things tended to get a little bit gory when military grade weaponry was involved. Oswald’s side had machine guns, shotguns, and pistols. Barbara’s side had about the same arsenal - except for the machine guns, as they were apparently less portable - and then she had the rocket launcher. She liked the thing. It made a glorious mess.

«You did good, Willy», she said as she hopped over the splattered remains of two of Cobblepot’s guards. «I believe this will get the point across quite nicely.»

They had control of the mansion, though they had lost fifteen men. The survivors would get three hundred thousand dollars instead of two, because having a reputation of generosity was very important when you wanted to keep using men as cannon fodder. Hiring was always more difficult when you were stingy. Which meant Ozzie had better be ready to offer _magnificent_ wages, because forty of his men needed to be replaced.

Barbara made her way to the mansion. They didn’t have much time left. They had waited for Penguin to leave the house for a trip to the club before attacking, but it was not impossible that he had been warned of the assault. So her team needed to grab the hostages and leave quickly.

She walked into the mansion, chuckling as her sneakers squeaked against the blood covered marble tiles.

«Gotta say, boss, that’s a hell of a point you made, alright», Willy commented, trying to tiptoe around the blood and corpses. «Though it’s hardly my business to say, I think you could have bought Gilzean back for half what you spent on us guys. Not to mention, you know, there wouldn’t have been a price on your head.»

«You think?»

The thug looked into the closest room, grimaced, and moved away from the door.

«Yeah. So, huh, why the big show of force?»

_They all deserve to die.*_

«They all deserved to die.»

Willy looked at her as if he thought she was insane and hoped she wouldn’t read his mind.

«They all deserved to die», Barbara repeated, shrugging. She mumbled the next line. «Tell you why, Mister Willy, tell you why. Because in _all_ of the whole human race, Mister Willy, there are two kinds of men and only two…»*

She made her way to the living room as pathetic-replacement-for-Butch hurried after her.

«What kind of men, boss?»

She walked into the room, still looking at Willy, and paying no mind to the terrified weeping coming from the sofa, where Mrs. Kabelput and Ozzie’s little guest were cowering.

«There’s the one staying put in his proper place and the one with his _foot_ in the other one’s _face_ »*, she explained, kicking the closed one corpse in the head.

Her shoes squeaked again.

Miriam’s bodyguard had not really wanted to fight to the death. He had been shot in the back as he was running to the window, or so Barbara had been told.

Gertrude wailed. Miriam, who was curled up against the old woman, shrieked.

«Oh, _get over yourselves_ », Barbara snapped. «We’re not going to hurt you?»

«Why would you do this?» the crazy old coot whined, with that insufferable accent of hers. «Why would you be so cruel?»

Barb’ took a deep breath and donned her best commercial smile. The gallery one. The « _I_ _’m going to be very patient with your uneducated, uninformed, and downright mentally deficient ass»_ one.

«Why. That’s a good question. One I’m not so sure you want the answer to, seeing as you obviously never cared about the problem at all.»

«W-what do you mean?»

«I _mean_ if you had paid attention, we wouldn’t be here at all. You would have opened your eyes when little Ozzie started torturing cats - which I’m sure he did - and slapped sense into his mind, and that would have been the end of it. But no. No. Oswald was ‘such a good boy’.»

She saw the doubt in Gertrude’s eyes, even if she immediately defended her son.

«He’s not like that. He’s never been like that!»

«Oswald is _nice_!» Miriam added, but then again she would think so. Her bedroom was filled with bones.

«Oswald is niiiice», Barbara mimicked, rolling her eyes. «I can’t be the first person to point out he’s not right in the mind, and I believe you _know that_ , Mrs. Kabelput. Now, on the ‘ _why_ ’ I’m being so cruel… Oswald took it upon himself to have my right hand abducted, and delivered to his BFF Victor Zsasz the _serial killer,_ so the freak could have fun torturing him in his basement. All of that so _I_ would obey him. WELL, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. So now, now, I have to kidnap the two of you and trade you for my friend. It’s not my fault, _is it?_ HE STARTED IT, DIDN’T HE?»

Gertrude’s world came crashing - just like dear Mother’s - and she didn’t try to defend her boy anymore. Something mean flickered in Miriam’s eyes, and she looked from Gertrude to Barbara, frowning.

Willy was called out by a teammate, which distracted everyone. He left for a few moments, and came back nervous.

«Hey, boss, one of Penguin’s men is alive», he announced. «He was hiding in a panic room. He says he has important information.»

Barbara raised her eyebrows.

«Why is he under the impression that I care about information? Do I strike you as a criminal mastermind? Because I’m not aiming for criminal mastermind.»

«Uh, I dunno, boss. He’s upstairs.»

The blonde rolled her eyes.

«Very well. Take the girls away, I’ll join you at the factory», she said, leaving the room.

Finding Penguin’s man was not too difficult, you just had to follow the sound of mockery and punches. She walked into Ozzie’s office - which was suddenly adorned with one less painting and one more concealed door - and shot the ceiling to get everyone’s attention. Her men moved away from their captive. It was Gabe.

«Heeeey! Gabe! Isn’t that a surprise!» she exclaimed, shooting in his direction.

He threw himself to the floor. So did several of her hirelings.

Hirelings had such a nice sound to it.

«No, no, please, don’t kill me!» the henchman begged. «I work for Maroni, I work for Maroni!»

Barbara blinked. That was mildly surprising, coming from Oswald’s favorite pet.

«Wait. Maroni, Maroni, crime lady Giulia?»

«Yeah, yeah, Giulia. I used to work for one of Salvatore’s guys, Frankie. Except Frankie was a cheap asshole so I sort of quit and started working for Cobblepot instead. Pay was better, and alimony doesn’t pay itself, you know?»

«You’re aware you’re making the exact opposite point of what you were going for, right?»

He held his hands up in the air.

«She called me like three weeks ago, said we used to have a nice business relationship and she could use a reliable man, and also that Oswald was kind of a cunt, so, heh, I figured ‘better pay’, ‘job security’, ‘less likely to be stabbed’. I was just collecting intel on Zsasz before getting my ass out of here, I swear.»

«Giulia Maroni», Barbara repeated, because she had absolutely no interest in the rest of the story.

«Yeah.»

«Well, then, I hope you have an excellent memory, because you’re going to have to pass a _lot_ of messages.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Song of the day: "Epiphany", from Sweeney Todd


	31. Chapter 31

The instructions were decorated with fireworks and bombs illustrations - cartoonish, pixelated clip-art images - and printed on strawberry-scented white sheets. They explained the frequency of the beeps and the required reaction.

Smile.

Jim studied his for longer than necessary, as if there was any clue to be found on the sheet, as if words could appear. Motives. Solutions.

Then he looked up, over the restaurant’s table, and tried to catch Scottie’s eyes. The redhead was terrified. He could hear her frantic breaths, see the sweat on her face. She was biting the inside of her cheeks to keep her teeth from chattering.

They had not been able to talk. No talking. Talking meant beeping. Beeping meant death.

He reached over the table to grab Scottie’s hand and squeezed. He wanted to tell her Harvey would find them, that it was their case, that his crossing two blocks on foot with a weird old lady was bound to have attracted some attention. He wanted to explain that the house he had been brought to _had_ to belong to someone, and that you could follow that lead to Margaret Crowne. But the necklaces were equipped with microphones. Sophie, the brown haired waitress currently preparing their drinks, had made a show of talking to Mrs. Valentine through her own.

«I hope you will have a wonderful date», she had announced after Jim had arrived at the restaurant. «You make such a cute couple.»

Those were not wishes and compliments, but tips.

It seemed to be the game. A date. Roses on the table, candles, soft music. Except the place was empty and Scottie had been bound to her chair when ‘Jonathan’ had pushed him into the room. Then Jim had been forced onto his seat, Scottie had been untied, Jonathan had left, and Sophie had counted down from ten.

«I’m Sophie, your waitress», she had announced. «What will you be drinking?»

They had stared at her, too shocked and confused to answer.

 _A date._ No, Harvey had not envisioned it. Jim had not thought of it either. Pornography was not _that_ far off, really. Fake intimacy, filmed and examined and used for self-gratification. Captives kept for fake relationships. _Lennon_ ’s MO, from what the police had gathered from the evidence in his apartment. Except the Ogre had been abducting women so _he_ could abuse them. He had not kidnapped people in pairs to act out his fantasies.

A «date». When did the show end? What was expected of them?

«You’re not very talkative», Sophie commented in a cheerful voice as she brought them their drinks. She crushed Jim’s foot under the table. «Two martinis. Here you are.»

 _Listen to Sophie. She_ _’ll keep you alive._

«Thank you very much», Scottie replied.

«Thank you, miss», Jim added.

Then he stared at the redhead in front of him. _Not very talkative._ He didn’t know what to say.

«So you’re a detective?» she asked, faking a smile. «That’s amazing!»

Her fear was no longer so visible. She was stomping it down.

«I-uh…»

«So you arrested that Electrocutioner supervillain? How did that go? I heard he could use some kind of mind-control machine?»

Jim’s first instinct was to deflect.

«That’s a bit dark», he replied. «I’m not sure it’s good material for-»

 _She doesn_ _’t want the real story, you idiot, she’s setting you up as the hero._

«I mean, it was an interesting case», he corrected. «Not as… Strange as the papers made it out to be, but… The man _did_ take out the entire GCPD by electrocuting everyone. That was impressive. You have to hand it to him.»

«And you fought him off _alone_?» Scottie asked with fake awe.

He smiled. Tried. He was aware that, whenever he had to pretend, his face looked like a cartoon character’s. He could have lived happily to the end of his days not knowing that, but Harvey loved to point it out.

«Pretty much. First, I had to fight his henchman - it was not that easy - and then… I had to face Buchinsky, which was trickier, because he could deliver lethal electric shocks, and I could _not_.»

«So how did you do it?»

«Well, I got him to talk, and managed to disable his weapon while he was distracted. You’d be surprised how often that works.»

«Now you make him sound like some Captain Marvel villain.»

«Well, he is not _exactly_ a Venusian worm, but he _did_ master mind control. Also there’s definitely some thunder joke in here, but I’m afraid my sense of humor could use some work.»

Scottie chuckled. _She_ was a good actress.

«I think it’s just fine», she assured him, sipping her martini. «And I’m impressed by it all. Jokes aside, alone against a criminal who can shock you to death? That’s amazing.»

«Just part of the job», Jim said. «Though I’ll have to admit, not all my days are that crazy.»

«I heard about a Balloon Man.»

«Err-»

«And an hypnotist who mind-controlled her patients into murdering people.»

«I-uh. Yes.»

«It really sounds like mind-control is a theme.»

«So I’ve had a few weird cases. I’m sure you have your share of stories.»

«As a career counselor?» she replied with a grin, lifting an eyebrow.

She was _good_. Quick, smart, and she refused to be afraid, but would still do her best to keep herself safe. Jim could see why Harvey loved her.

His stomach lurched.

Obviously, it showed on his face, because she nudged him with her foot. He smiled. He tried to remember what Lee had asked Scottie, the first time they met. He couldn’t, for the life of him, recall a single question.

«Seems like the kind of job where you’d meet many interesting people», he mumbled.

«It is. And a very satisfying one, too. You get to help someone to find their dreams and build their lives back up. Like when…»

And she told him a story he could barely follow, distracted as he was by the context, the itching of his neck, the weight of the bomb on his throat, but it sounded inspiring, and funny. She didn’t act like a prisoner. She was not afraid, she was not confused, she was not stunned. She had been put in an impossible situation and just rolled with it. Jim found that he _did_ remember a few of the things she had told Leslie. «CBT. Mostly CBT. But we do a lot of various things. I’ve gone rock climbing with members of the group, we had a session of cat petting at a shelter. Incidentally, that’s when I got my cat. We also do improvisation. It really helps people with social anxiety.»

She _was_ something else. She had spent her life battling fear - her’s, and dozen of strangers’ - and had never given up, not even after Crane had abducted her. She would analyze the dark sides of a situation, spot the cracks and holes, and find her way to the light.

 _However dark and scary the world might be right now_ _…_

«Jim?» Scottie called.

«I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was distracted.»

«Have you decided on something?» she asked, pointing at the menu.

The choice was fairly limited. Pages filled with lines and lines of «Milanesa» and «Fries».

«Milanesa and fries, I think.»

She stared at him and tried to remain expressionless, but her nerves caught up with her and she started laughing. It was an horrifying, strangled laugh, and she swallowed it down.

«I think I’ll have the same», she replied between gasps.

Jim called Sophie and ordered to give Scottie some time to collect herself. The waitress walked into the kitchen and came back with two plates on a platter. She put them down in front of them with trembling hands, then went back to the counter and stood still as they ate. The cop tried to make small talk, but he was mostly on autopilot and couldn’t keep track of the conversation. The food allowed them to space their answers, which was a relief. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stretch it out forever. They had to keep pretending after their plates were taken away, and Jim… He was not afraid. He could, reasonably, go along with the act until he could figure out a way to escape without getting someone killed.

He just could not fake something he was not very good at to begin with.

His necklace started beeping.

Scottie shrunk away.

«You, uh, did y-» Jim tried.

The beeping grew faster.

Sophie slammed a cup on the table, right under his nose.

«It was a lovely evening», she whispered, pouring steaming coffee into the cup. «Gettin’ late. Walk you home.»

The blond stared at her as she served Scottie and returned to the kitchen.

The beeping had not stopped. He pushed his coffee away.

«It was a _lovely_ evening», he said, as warmly as he managed to. «Can I walk you home?»

Scottie grinned. She was livid.

«It w-would be my pleasure.»

Jim stood, and held out his hand to help her to her feet, then followed her out. He offered his arm. She took it. The beeping stopped. They both sighed in relief. Then they looked around. The cop had not seen the place when Jonathan had led him to the restaurant. The lights had been off. He had only noticed vague shapes, and his abductor had not given him time to inspect his surroundings.

They were standing at the end of a street, in a gigantic closed room, large enough to hold six mobile homes and their gardens. The ceiling was painted sky blue and covered in floodlights. At the opposite end of the street, a screen flickered. At first, it showed pure white. Then, instructions appeared.

«Walk Scottie home. Good night kiss.

Scottie Mullens, 4, Gardenia Lane.

Jim Gordon, 1, Gardenia Lane.»

The redhead said nothing but squeezed his arm tighter. He could hear her teeth chattering.

She was still the one who grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, when they finally reached «her» door.

 

###

 

Oswald was well acquainted with fear. All his life, he had been weaker, smaller, weirder than the rest. All his life, he had been despised and threatened. He had a vision, he had a plan, but that plan had required him to serve the likes of Fish Mooney, Salvatore Maroni and Carmine Falcone. They had despised him, all of them. More than that: they had wanted to crush him. They would have reveled in his pain. They would have seen him dead. But, all along, he had known he would triumph. He had known he could pit them against each other and come out on top. He had known their hubris would be their downfall, for he was more patient than all of them put together, and definitely shrewder.

And he had outwitted them.

He was king of Gotham.

That had not prevented him from ending up waiting by the phone for twenty-six hours straight in a house filled with corpses. In the end, you could not outwit someone you did not understand. You could not predict chaos. You could not manipulate insanity.

Kean, an Arkham escapee, a high-society princess, had done what Oswald’s most powerful living enemy had not dared to do. She had attacked him in his home, with thirty men, a few guns, and a few hours of preparation. And she had taken his mother away.

Twenty-six hours, and she had not called. She had told Gabe she would, «at some point», to negotiate an exchange. Gilzean against Gertrude and Miriam. Maybe only _one_ of the two.

Oswald had sent Zsasz after her. He had set his men to the task of finding his mother, or Kean, or both. He had made sure every cop on his payroll was looking for the lunatic (most had been anyway, considering she had abducted Essen’s children). There was no sign of her, nor of Gertrude, nor of Miriam. And Gotham was a large city, full of nooks and crannies. If Kean stayed put, she would never be found.

The one person who might have been used as bait, dear old James Gordon, had not answered Oswald’s forty-two phone calls. He was nowhere to be found either. There would be hell to pay for that.

On the twenty-seventh hour, the phone finally rang. He picked up and squeaked a greeting.

«Hi, Ozzie!» came the maniac’s answer. «How are you today?»

«What have you done to my mother? I want to talk to her. This instant.»

Kean clicked her tongue.

«No, no, noooo, not yet. There will be a trade, and you will give me Butch - _unharmed_ \- and I will give you the ladies - _equally unharmed._ But, in the meantime, we are going to make a few things clear.»

Oswald felt a shiver run down his spine. Gilzean could not be returned «unharmed». He had spent a few hours in Zsasz’s care, before Kean had started her «operation». And she knew it. She had no idea of the extent of his injuries, so she could not reproduce them on Gertrude, but that «equally» was still chilling.

«I’m all ears», the crime lord replied.

«There’s one thing. You have not been operating around me for very long so - of course - you are not well acquainted with the rules around me. I figured you needed to be informed of them.»

Throwing his own words back in his face. The woman loved her dramatics.

«And what are those rules, pray tell?»

«They are no rules. I hate rules. Noooo rules. None! A girl can do what she wants to do and that what I’m gonna do.* If I want to rob people, I will rob people. If I want to abduct cops, I will abduct cops. And if I want to attack the GCPD, I will attack the GCPD. AND IF I WANT TO SET YOUR CITY ON FIRE, I BLOODY WILL, AND I WONT. NEED. YOUR. EXPRESS. APPROVAL.» - She panted for a while, then continued in a quiet and saccharine tone. - «Are we clear on that?»

He ground his teeth.

«Very clear. When can I expect the exchange? Can we arrange it now?»

«Nah. I’ll call you back.»

«I’m sorry, _what_?»

«I said I’d call you back. Maybe at the end of the week. Maybe later. Depends on my planning. I have a Marcel Duchamp sculpture to steal.»

«You don’t seem in a hurry to see Gilzean back alive», Oswald snapped back.

«I _really_ , _really_ , _really_ want to get my point across, sweetie. I want you to mull on it for a little while. Also, if I don’t get Butch back alive, I’ll kill your mom. Don’t think for a second I’ll have remorse about it. She’s a nice little old lady, but I killed _my_ mom. Why would I care about _your_ mom?»

«I’m sure we can arrange for an earlier mee-»

«Oooh, Little House On The Prairie is on! Got to go, Ozzie. Talk to you later!»

And she hung up.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barbara's song: Bad reputation, Joan Jett


	32. Chapter 32

Gotham sucked out your soul.

You could live there, but it was at best trampling around in the mud, trying not to walk into quicksand. You couldn’t plan. You couldn’t build. You couldn’t hope. Things could be okay - okayish - and then you went back to your girlfriend’s after a day of work, and she wasn’t there. So you waited. You fed the cat. You called her and went straight to voice mail. You tried again. You called her mother. You called her best friend. You called _your_ best friend, and he didn’t pick up. You called the precinct and reported Scottie as missing.

You were told that - «Come on, Bullock.» - four hours without news was not really enough to consider someone missing.

«Collins, fucking trust me on this, I have a _feeling_ », you snapped back.

It had been a busy day for Barbara Kean, what with raiding Penguin’s place, but she could have found five minutes to grab Scottie. Why not? She’d gone after Sarah’s children. Why not Harvey’s significant other? Going through Jim’s friends was the best way to hurt him. The boy could have been shot and stabbed without giving a damn, but he _did_ care about his friends. You had to use Leslie-grade voodoo to get him to show it, and he tended to pay shit attention to every problem that wasn’t a bleeding wound, but he did.

Anyway, the psychotic ex-girlfriend was a good lead, so you called Jim again, and you went straight to voice mail. And you started getting scared, so you called Leslie’s apartment. And, as it turned out, Jim had never gone home.

Then you spent four days trying to find their bodies.

One didn’t spend years in Gotham and remain an optimist. Whoever had them - even if it wasn’t the crazy bitch - was not likely to have kept them alive for long. Better be ready for that. You kept your expectations low. You searched all the same. For the bodies. For answers. For closure.

Four fucking days.

He had handled Scottie’s mother, a very nice, lovely lady he had never met before, and who was terrified and needed a rock to lean on. As a cop, he would have told her «though luck, ma’am». As her daughter’s boyfriend… He had been as supportive and comforting as he could manage. He’d been sober. Day after day. And, instead of sleeping in the locker room, he had gone «home» to Scottie’s because someone had to feed her cat, and passed out in the sofa for a few hours each night, with the kind help of his good friend whiskey.

It would have been the plan for that fifth evening, if he had not found Selina Kyle sitting in the dark in Scottie’s kitchen.

«I _swear_ you want to get killed», he snapped after jumping out of his skin.

«I fed the cat», she started, frowning. «His water bowl was empty.»

«I would have fed the stupid cat! Get out! How many times do I have to tell you you’re not _welcome?_ »

She rolled her eyes.

«I’ve found that guy you were looking for.»

«Gilzean? You _really_ think I’m still looking for _Gilzean_? In case you didn’t notice, my girlfriend and my partner are missing. And Butch is in Zsasz’s basement. The whole city knows about that!»

The kid slipped out of her chair to sit cross legged on the floor, as Scottie’s tabby was done eating. The cat ran to her and rubbed his head against her hands.

«You think it’s Barb’? The one who caught them?»

«I think it’s possible but Jim has more enemies than that, and there’s no shortage of lunatics in Gotham, even without that.»

«There’s nothing that points to Barbara at all?»

Harvey shrugged and went to the fridge, getting himself a beer.

«An old lady lured him to a house on Stillwell Street», he explained, sitting on the chair the brat had vacated. «He was seen escorting her. We found the place easily enough, signs of a fight, blood stains… But we have nothing from there. The house was bought three months ago by a shell company from Singapore. No way to connect it to anyone.»

The girl gave the cat a belly rub and didn’t get her hands shredded.

«So you’re not sure?»

«Could be anyone with tons of money. Could be a group of people with tons of money. Could be two different abductors, though why Jim _and_ Scottie, who know each other, on the same day? Could be Jim was kidnapped and Scottie fell into the river on her way to the corner store and her body wasn’t found. And _yeah,_ it could be Kean, and that’s what my gut tells me, but we are considering all possibilities.»

Kyle nodded, scratching the cat behind the ears. Much to Harvey’s surprise, the thing _could_ purr.

«About Gilzean», the kid said. «Yeah, the creepy hitman has him. Penguin bragged about that around his men. Wanted to give Barb’ a lesson about attacking the GCPD in _his_ city, wah, wah, wah.»

Harvey knew about that. The plan had backfired spectacularly enough. Cobblepot had tried to hush the whole thing, but you couldn’t push thirty bodies under the carpet and hope no one heard about it. You couldn’t get a whole new team without raising questions. The whole _city_ knew about Kean raiding the place. Penguin pretended she had stolen some antiques. His weird-ass mom had not been seen since then.

The cop took a long sip of his beer, then sighed.

«I know you think I’m a crap detective, but I _have_ contacts in town, kiddo. Friends in low places and all.»

«So you know Barbara has Cobblepot’s mom?»

« _Yeah_.»

«D’you know where they’ll trade hostages?»

Harvey stared at her. She raised her eyebrows.

«I take it you do», he mumbled.

«Yep.»

«I take it it’ll cost me.»

«Yep.»

«And how much, exactly, is this going to cost me?»

«Fifty bucks?»

«How does a kick to the ass sound?»

She shrugged.

«Was worth a try», she mumbled. « _Anyway_. I went to a fence I know, and I asked about the Picasso heist. Said it was totally the kind of job I was interested in, and that I was never getting out of the streets if I didn’t up my game. So I ask ‘maybe they need thieves?’, and ‘are they hiring, you think?’ and turns out he knows a guy who knows a guy and they _are_ recruiting for a big thing in a private collector’s house. He says ‘usually, that Gilzean guy handles things, but he’s out of the picture’, and-»

«Do you _mind_ getting to the point?»

«Barbara has a new sidekick who does the whole hiring thing for that heist, so I stalked him a bit. And, yeah, he’s doing the recruiting alright. Got thieves, got a locksmith, got a kid who does special effects for his movie club at school, got men to secure a part of the docks under Ranelagh Ferry’s terminal… And I don’t think the dock thing is related to the heist at all.»

She had a point. You didn’t go and steal artwork worth a few millions to advertise where you were going to move it. Being close to the docks allowed for easy escapes by boat. More importantly, it was not an isolated part of town. Several main roads led to the ferry, which meant if you tried to tail a car in that area and then lost it, you were out of luck. It was easy to disappear in the labyrinthine streets of West Gotham.

«Did you hear anything about a meeting?» he asked.

«Nah, couldn’t get close. But tell you what. I have the guy’s license plate number, and I know he crosses the bridge to the water district each time he leaves the docks. That’s as far as I could track him.»

 

###

 

Five days. Five days without news of his mother and Miriam. Kean had called three times, and only on the last had she consented on a date and a place to exchange the hostages. The dock south of the ferry terminal, at three in the afternoon. She had called at fifteen past two, which left Oswald with little time to prepare himself. He had planned to bring an army with him. Not only did he want Kean and her men dead (and Butch back in that basement, where he belonged, for his role in this debacle), he was not sure the lunatic would not try to slaughter him and anyone he brought with him.

She had set rules, too, because _clearly_ the «no rules» philosophy only applied when it was convenient for her.

«You are to come with no more than ten men, in three cars at most. You will be stopped at the end of the dock. You _will_ prove that Butch is present and in good health. And once that has been verified, we will talk, and I’ll have the girls brought in.»

He had gathered a small team. Zsasz and his girls, and a few of his men. Three dozen hirelings in vehicles spread around the area so they could catch Kean and Gilzean after the exchange. It wasn’t nearly enough a force, but it would have to do.

The drive to the western docks was excruciatingly slow. There was very little traffic to enter the city in the middle of the afternoon, and the driver was going well over the speed limit but, to Oswald, the minutes seemed to stretch. Gilzean’s whimpering did not help.

«Having him in your car will prevent them from greeting us with gunfire», Zsasz had assured.

It was true enough, and Oswald did not relish the idea of ending up riddled with bullets, so he and Butch were sharing the backseat, whereas Victor was sitting on the passenger seat. But Gilzean’s hysterics were unbearable. Sure, the imbecile had been patched up, and if you did not undress him, you could not know about the network of sutures all over his body. He could walk, he could stretch (mostly), and his wounds were mending nicely enough. His mind, however, was not recovering as quickly. He was a sobbing mess, his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and, if you talked to him, he cowered in fear. Which had been the intended result of his captivity, but proved impractical when Kean promised to release her hostages «equally unharmed».

Cobblepot stared at the man’s trembling hands and clenched his jaw.

«You will compose yourself», he ordered. «You will stop acting like a pathetic wreck. You are getting what you wanted. You are to be freed. You do _not_ want Kean to believe she doesn’t need you back after all. You do _not_ want that, because it would mean I am not getting my mother back. It would mean I’ll take a continued interest in your survival in Zsasz’s care, and - if Victor ever finds himself unable to tend to you - in the equally creative hands of his replacement.»

Gilzean squeaked and started _crying_.

«Oh, for God’s sake!» Oswald hissed.

He didn’t have the time to try to talk the idiot out of his fit: the car was parking at the end of the docks. Victor got out and discussed with Kean’s men, then opened the door so they would take a look at Gilzean. Of course, in his sorry state, Butch did not make much of an impression, and the thugs walked away confused. Oswald could only hope Kean would not fly off the handle.

Victor closed the car door, talked some more, then returned to his seat. The driver was authorized to continue, and stopped a bit farther. At that point, the crime lord was allowed to leave the car. Zsasz remained by his side as he got out.

Barbara was standing a fifty feet away, surrounded by her men. She walked to them. The bruises on her face had mostly healed, but you could still see violet shapes under her make up. She was wearing an elegant black dress with a white boa and long white gloves, and her hairdo was intricate, full of pins and jewelry, as if she had been going out to a party in the Diamond District.

«Ozzie! Vic!» she greeted them. «A pleasure to see you again.»

The crime lord cringed at the nickname but did not comment on it.

«Where are they?» he asked, since his mother and Miriam were nowhere in sight.

«They’ll arrive shortly. I had to make sure you brought _your_ hostage. And that he was fine», she added, getting closer. «I’ll see him now, if you don’t mind.»

Oswald took two steps back.

«Victor. Search Miss Kean for weapons.»

The blonde raised her eyebrows.

«Really? We have armed men on both sides. Why would I attack you? I’d rather not be shot today.»

_Because we both know you_ _’d do it on a whim, you lunatic._

«Are you going to comply, or are you going to take a step back?» Oswald asked.

She rolled her eyes and unzipped her dress, taking it off. She waved the piece of cloth in front of them, and twirled.

«See? No weapons», she announced, slipping back into the dress. « _Really_ , Ozzie.»

«The gloves», he replied.

She sighed and took the gloves off.

«You are paranoid», she commented, putting them back on.

«Merely cautious, Miss Kean», Oswald replied. «Thanks for your compliance. I believe you get to talk to dear old Butch.»

He nodded to Victor, who called a man to take his place by Cobblepot’s side. Kean grimaced and started adjusting her hair, ranting about those «unnecessary precautions». Zsasz and his girl got Gilzean out of the car. While he was not sobbing anymore, he still looked like a ghost of himself. His eyes were red and puffy. He was still shaking. Barbara took one look at him, forgot all about her hair, and ran to his side.

«Butch, oh, Butch, what have they _done_ to you?» she cried, tearing up.

She took Gilzean’s face between her hands and wiped his temples, then hugged him, jumping back when he tensed.

«’M okay», he muttered.

She caressed his face again, then her hands moved down to his shoulders, torso, and finally wrists. Her lower lip was trembling.

«You don’t look okay at all.»

«I’m ‘kay», Gilzean repeated, taking a shaky breath.

She squeezed his hands and pressed her forehead against his in a sickening display of affection.

«I’m getting you out», she murmured. «Let me just finish this and you’ll be _safe_.»

 _For however long it takes me to track the two of you down_ , Oswald thought.

Zsasz led Butch away, and Kean took a few panicked breaths. She composed herself and turned to her men.

«Get them here!» she ordered.

One of the men repeated the instruction in his talkie-walkie. Nearly instantly, they heard a motor noise getting closer and closer, over the river. A small boat maneuvered from under the closest bridge to the side of the dock, and Gertrude and Miriam were helped out of it, then led down the dock to Oswald and Barbara. Miriam was fuming. Gertrude was crying, her threw herself into her son’s arms. He held her close, rocking her.

«It’s alright», he said. «You’re safe now. You’re safe. Did they hurt you?»

Gertrude just sobbed.

«I was so afraid», she whispered.

«Did they hurt you?» he repeated.

«They didn’t, but I stabbed one of them in the knee», Miriam replied, sullen. «I thought we could run.»

«There was no need to _run_ », Kean pointed out. «I am very nice to my guests. Unlike _some_.»

Gilzean made a strangled noise, halfway between a sob and a moan.

«I don’t see what you mean», Oswald snapped. «Now, can we declare this sordid business finished and behind us? I’d like to take my mother home.»

Butch made that noise again, louder.

«Yes, yes», Kean said, waving her hand dismissively.

Obviously, Gilzean was not calming down. He squeaked between gasps, and Oswald whirled to him in irritation. He froze. Butch was nearly kneeling, face down, shoulders shaking. Victor was hunched over him, face blank, lips half open. It looked a bit as if he was holding his captive down. But a red stain was spreading on his abdomen, right around the diaphragm, where Butch had stabbed him with a small, glittery, golden - _hairpin_ \- blade.

Victor coughed. He couldn’t breathe with a wound like that, and he was likely going into shock.

Gilzean squeaked again, but it sounded more like a giggle. He moved back, pulling the blade out, and stood up straight, and chuckled. Then he stabbed Victor in the throat, twisted his blade, and started _laughing_. The assassin fell to his knees, holding his throat for an instant before passing out.

«We’re hiring», Kean announced in an overly cheerful tone, turning to Zsasz’s partner.

The hitgirl, who had been pointing her gun at Butch, aimed it at Oswald instead. A few of Victor’s men hesitated and were promptly gunned down by the rest of their teammates, who moved towards the new leader of the pack. Barbara giggled.

Butch shook his head, grinning, and turned to Cobblepot.

«Well, isn’t this a _hoot_?» he asked, his grin growing larger.

He started laughing again.

 

###


	33. Chapter 33

Jim had spent a few day exploring Margaret Crowne’s «basement», and made a list of the most important points about the place.

1\. There was no way out. The exit was protected by a proximity sensor that would activate the explosives around one’s neck. Jim had also inspected the ventilation tunnels, and found similar devices inside them. You could only leave if Crowne disabled the sensors, which she only did when she called Nate upstairs.

2\. Nate was «Mrs. Valentine»’s handyman. Food had appeared in the cupboards of Jim’s new «home» while he was sleeping, so he had waited until two in the morning on his second night as a prisoner, and caught Nate filling his fridge with groceries. They were not allowed to talk, however. Nate had hushed him, and gestured for him to return to the bedroom.

3\. Most attempts at «real» communication resulted in «beeping» warnings from the necklaces. That being said, Crowne had to sleep and leave the house, and Jim had managed to discuss Harvey with Scottie for a whole five minutes. Sophie, who did not interact with them outside the restaurant where they had they daily date, had overheard them and promptly cut their conversation short. A bit later, she had knocked on his door, bringing a tape with her. «It’s a nice movie», she had said, repeatedly pointing at the tape. It was «When Harry Met Sally», and Jim had a copy, but he had understood the message just fine. Not only were they monitored, they were recorded. It meant they couldn’t talk at _all_. If the other captives knew of weaknesses in the security system, or had thought of ways to escape, they could not discuss them.

4\. Nate and Sophie, who were «married», lived in the second house. Sophie could be spotted out of the house, every now and then, but Nate seemed to spend most of his time inside. He only left at night, or when the Screen gave him specific instructions. Their television was on most of the day: you could hear it when you were close to the house. They kept their blinds closed, however, so Jim had not managed to take a look inside yet. He had, however, heard a child crying. He hoped it had been the television.

5\. Number three was inhabited. The lights would turn on and off. Someone moved inside, used the shower, watched TV. But if you knocked, you got no answer. Whoever was inside turned the lights off. The door was locked.

6\. There was a small pool behind number three. Jim had not paid attention to it until Scottie’s panic attack.

7\. There was a difference of a few hours between the basement and the outside world, conveniently placing the «dates» in the middle of Margaret Crowne’s afternoon.

Jim had not given up on escaping but, so far, he had no plan. Chances were Harvey would track them down. If he did not, Jim and Scottie would have to rely on their creativity, which would not get them very far.

Getting the other captives to help would be difficult. Sophie wanted out and played by the rules only to survive, that was clear, but hear playing by the rules meant she shut down any attempt the cop made to talk to her. She also insisted that «young lovers should have plenty of time alone», which was probably straight out of the instructions she had received from Valentine.

Nate… Nate was allowed out. Nate helped with the abductions. His necklace was sometimes _removed_. He was the most likely to be of use. Of course, as long as his «wife» (who was at least his lover) was held hostage, Crowne would have the upper hand. Jim still thought talking to him was his only shot at obtaining information. So, on his fourth afternoon in the basement, Jim waited for Sophie to leave the house, and slipped inside.

He found Nate in the cramped living room that doubled as a kitchen, in the sofa, watching television with his son. The boy spotted Jim first and shrieked, hiding behind his father. He could not have been older than four. He was wearing an explosive necklace.

_So that_ _’s why Nate obeys._

«Err, hello», Jim said, holding up the tape Sophie had loaned him. «The door was open. I just wanted to return this.»

The other man turned the TV off, staring at the cop, and tousled the boy’s hair to calm him down.

«I can just drop it there», the detective said, pointing at the kitchen table.

«Shawn, go play in your room», Nate said, staring at Jim, expressionless. «Daddy needs to talk to the nice new neighbor.»

The child nodded and ran off. His father set his jaw and kept glaring at Jim in cold silence, then stood and walked to the kitchenette. He poured two cups of coffee.

«How are you enjoying your new home? Sugar?» he asked.

«No, thank you. And… It, uh, I’m still getting used to it. It’s… Cosy.»

Nate put the cups down on the kitchen table and took a seat.

«Nice to hear. You’ll see. It’s a lovely place», he recited, face blank.

The detective joined him, sitting in front of him. He took in the location of the cameras and pretended not to notice them. He smiled.

«So, seems like you’ve been around for a while. When did you move in?»

Nate’s mask slipped on. The emptiness vanished, and all of a sudden he looked ten years younger and straight out of a magazine cover. He even grinned.

Then he replied and Jim felt sick.

«I’m not sure. Seven, eight years now?»

«Seven, eight years.»

Gone missing, his picture printed and photocopied and taped to announcement boards in train stations, around his home, in newspapers. Then nothing. Another cold case for the MPU. The pictures on those boards in train stations? Covered up by more recent missing person reports. The ones around his block? Torn away, washed up, peeled off. How many years had it taken for his family to stop searching? Had he sent a suicide note, too, like David?

«That’s… A long time», Jim said. «Is that when you met your wife?»

Nate’s eyes glazed over.

«Yes. No. You mean Sophie. No, no, Sophie moved in two years ago», he replied, composing himself. His expression grew tender, his smile warm. «That’s when I met Becky. My first wife, Shawn’s mother. Unfortunately, she fell ill a little after our son was born, and she passed away.»

_Ill._

«I’m sorry for your loss», Jim replied, wondering where the woman’s corpse had been dropped, and if it had ever been found.

«It was a long time ago. And there’s a silver lining. I ended up meeting Sophie, falling in love… I can honestly say I have never been happier.»

The cop studied his face. He was a good actor. Brilliant, even. You could nearly believe he felt genuine affection and joy. But Jim had seen him around Sophie, albeit very briefly. If they believed they were not being watched, they interacted with cold indifference. «She’s a bitch», Nate had said, «but she will keep you alive». Of course, she meant nothing to him. She was the second woman forced upon him. What Mrs. Valentine used to make him obey was his _son_.

«Are things going well with Miss Mullens?»

Jim blinked, and reminded himself not to stop _pretending_.

«It’s… Not a complete disaster? I’ll have to admit, I’m not so good at the whole dating thing. I tend to be... Reserved. But, thankfully, Scottie seems to know what she is doing.»

«I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to her, but my wife says she’s lovely. You’re a lucky man.»

«I totally agree», the cop replied. «I’m wondering. Did you have many neighbors over the years? The street seems a bit empty.»

«People come and go», Nate commented, dismissive. «None have stayed very long.»

«Except you and Sophie?»

«Except me and Sophie, I suppose.»

Jim did his best to sound casual.

«I’ve heard about Delores and Sabrina», he said with mild curiosity. «Did they move out?»

Nate froze. The detective was not supposed to know about the two women, except if Sophie had mentioned them. It was a possibility - enough of a possibility for Jim to believe Margaret Crowne would _not_ browse through four days of recordings to find that conversation - but Nate knew his «wife» well enough not to believe it. It meant Jim had known about the women _before_ his capture. It meant that a _homicide detective_ had known about them.

The cop let that sink in. The bodies had been found. The case was being investigated.

There was hope.

«N-neither of them st-tayed long», Nate replied. «Not everyone likes it here.»

Jim shook his head.

«That’s a shame», he commented, taking a look at the clock on the wall. «That being said, I’m supposed to meet Scottie in half an hour. I should go.»

His fellow captive nodded and led him to the door.

«It was a pleasure to talk to you, James.»

 

###

 

Napoleon had been wrong about torture, _indeed_. It was about punishment. It was about revenge. It was about pleasure. And - Oswald had no doubt about that - Gilzean would mete out the first, exact the second, and savor the third. How quickly fortunes changed. One moment, you were on top of the world. The next, you found yourself abandoned, facing certain death, your allies turned against you, everything you had built turning to dust.

 _One_ moment.

Everyone remained silent as Butch laughed, and laughed, and _laughed_.

He moved away from Zsasz’s corpse, waving his knife around. Such a deceitful little thing, that blade. A bit smaller than a letter opener, and decorated with gold and jewelry.

«This is _great_ », Gilzean said when he finally collected himself. «This is _GREAT_. Why was I ever _afraid_ of that clown?»

Then Miriam kicked the man who had been holding her, and threw herself at Butch, kicking and screaming. She scratched his face, but didn’t do much damage, and he pushed her away easily. Two of the thugs grabbed her and pulled her away, silencing her with haphazardly applied duct tape. She thrashed and stomped on their feet, but they did not let her go. Gilzean watched it all unfold, chuckled, and shook his head. Then he brandished his blade again, turning to Oswald.

His mother tried to throw herself between them, but Kean’s men had learned their lesson. They kept her in place and gagged her too.

In Oswald’s experience, there was only one way out of those situations. _Sheer luck_. He had always begged, he had always grovelled, he had always bargained, but it had always been with heavy stakes, and he had been helped along by strokes of serendipity. Oh, he had been nearly certain he could escape, every time, as long as he tried hard enough. He had evaded being shot in the head, being crushed in a car. He had survived Maroni and Fish. He had outlasted Falcone. He had always known he would.

Against Gilzean, however, he was not so certain. Just like Kean, he had been broken, and come out of it _different_.

«Oswald, Oswald, Oswald, my _friend_ », he exclaimed as he walked closer, opening his arms with a good natured smile. «It’s funny how things turn out, isn’t it? Here I was, thinking I was going to spend the rest of my life strapped to an operating table, making conversation with a maniac - _How are you today, Butch? Ready to suffer? NoooOOO, no, please!_ \- and then I discover all I had to do was to _kill him_. I mean, I can kill people. I’ve done that all my life. It’s not even difficult.»

Cobblepot kept moving away, trying to stay out of his reach. He ended up with his back against the car.

«Butch, Butch, _please_ », he implored. «This needn’t end badly. I believe we can see eye to eye. I’ll do any-»

Gilzean started laughing again and raised a finger to shut him up. He took a deep breath and shook his head. His expression grew pensive.

Then he stabbed Oswald in the eye.

The pain was-

The pain couldn’t be described.

Sweat ran down Cobblepot’s face. The pain traveled through his body to his toes. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

«Let me think about it», Gilzean said, pausing for better effect. «Nah. We can only see eye _one_ eye.»

Kean chuckled.

«That’s it? A _giggle_?» her sidekick ranted. «Come on! That was _hilarious_.»

«I’ve heard better», the bitch replied. «You could have done better.»

Gilzean heaved, annoyed.

«Fine, fine. ‘Ooooh. His eyes shoot _daggers_. LITERALLY!»

She laughed at that, and so did several of her men. Butch snorted and moved away, slowly pulling the blade out. Oswald dropped to the ground and pressed his hand to his face. Fluid was running down his cheek. He could not see at all from his injured eye. _Don_ _’ttouchdon’ttouch_. The pain had him shaking and shivering.

It took him a few moments to manage to look up. Gilzean was standing above him, observing him with a mean smile.

«Now you know what, Ozzie? I believe in paying my debts», he said, before he turned to Kean’s men. « _Bring the girl!_ _»_

Miriam was pushed towards them and pushed on her knees next to Gilzean, who pulled her up again, grabbing her collar.

«No», Oswald moaned, unable to come up with any sort of offer or promise. «No, no, no.»

«Yeeees. Yes, yes, YES», Butch retorted. « _Gun_.»

Kean hopped to him and gave him a gun.

«You remember Fish?» Gilzean asked, dragging Miriam to the border of the docks. She was trying to free herself, in vain. «Fish. Mooney. You know? Sassy lady, your ex boss, the _love of my life_?»

« _Nononononono-_ _»_

«You remember when you had me shoot her, and then you _threw her into the river?_ »

«Butch, N-»

Gilzean shot Miriam in the leg and pushed her into the water.

She would drown. She would. She had never seen water deeper than a batthub’s in her life. She couldn’t swim. She was gagged.

There was some splashing, then nothing.

Oswald started convulsing.

Butch laughed.

 

###

 

It felt good. It felt _absurdly_ good.

Butch chuckled as Zsasz’s hitgirl - Barbara’s hitgirl, now - pushed Gertrude Kapelput into the car that would bring her to their hideout. She’d make a fine hostage, while he tortured Penguin some more.

 _On that note_.

«Hey, can I have a phone, people?» he shouted.

He was given a phone. He called 911, smiling as he did.

«We need an ambulance on the docks under Ranelagh Ferry’s terminal. Someone had been stabbed», he explained. «It’s urgent.»

He hung up and threw the phone next to Penguin, who had passed out after that last shaking fit.

Giulia would be all over that.

«Shall we go?» Barbara called from the end of the dock.

She was waiting by the boat, rocking on her heels. He joined her. She smiled.

«Now, I have to admit, Mister G., I didn’t think you had it in you», she teased.

He snorted, amused, and wrapped an arm around her waist. He could not remember why he had been so set on not fucking her, because she was absolutely lovely. And he was endlessly grateful.

«Now I’ve had the time of my life», he said, pressing his lips to her cheek. «No, I _never_ felt like this before.»*

«Really, now?» she retorted, raising her eyebrows.

«Yes, I swear, It’s the truth…»*

She grinned. He kissed her, pulling her closer.

«Aaaaannnd?» she asked.

«And I owe it _all_ to you.»*

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Song: Dirty Dancing – (I've Had) The Time Of My Life
> 
> All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, I actually _like_ Oswald. Please forgive me. I'm  not sorry.


	34. Chapter 34

The date went, as all of Jim and Scottie’s dates so far, _not too poorly_. Their conversations were train wrecks. They had no chemistry to speak of. But they tried, for survival’s sake. Jim had studied the piles of movies and romantic books littering his house, to know what was expected from him, and could come up with fairly convincing lines. Scottie didn’t need those tapes and novels. She had quick wit.

There had been a kiss at the end of the date, initiated by the redhead (again), before they both went home, and Jim hoped that would be enough to satisfy Crowne. Just _kissing_ made his skin crawl, and the disgust grew worse from day to day. Being forced to do it, being _watched_. Thinking of Leslie. Thinking of Harvey. Knowing Scottie felt just as repulsed. It made Jim sick. Just remembering that last kiss made him heave.

He would have to find a way out quickly, or get himself blown up, because he was not going to participate in the rape «Mrs. Valentine» was planning for them.

The date had been over for thirty minutes and he had spent that time crumpled in the sofa, replaying the previous days in his mind. He didn’t think he had much time before the screen ordered them to move up from first base. He hoped Crowne was old-fashioned enough to consider things had to be drawn out. The two people who knew for sure, a house away, were not about to discuss the topic, and Jim was not about to press them for _that_ information.

Still. Sophie had finally gone home. She had been working at the restaurant and would not have been able to talk with her partner earlier, but they were probably discussing Jim’s revelations by this point. Jim had no doubt they had devised ways to communicate that Crowne could not monitor. Now, their being informed that the police knew about the abductions - if Nate had correctly understood that - did not mean much. It wouldn’t make them more willing to risk their lives, or Shawn’s. It would not make them share information. But it was a spark of hope. It was a little _something_.

It was the best Jim could do. He could not charge. He could not fight. His only option was quiet resistance. Careful steps.

_One foot in front of the other, on a tightrope._

It was the little things. It had to be the little things, the hope. If you tried to hard, everyone’s world came crashing down. And you could not just do _nothing_.

«I don’t save the day», Selina had said. «I do small things that I’m sure I won’t fuck up.»

That girl knew more about survival than Jim ever had, and he had fought in wars. Selina. Harvey. The two of them knew how to toe the line, and while their way of explaining the rules of Gotham _grated_ \- do nothing, give up, don’t bother trying - there was much to be learned from them. Their indifference was only skin deep (though they had thick skins, both of them). They cared. And, if they had to, they helped, against their best judgment. And they survived.

They knew Gotham. They knew the _enemy_. «Of course I saw Barbara was nuts. Don’t you pay attention at _all_?» the girl had told him. «It was all over her face. In her voice. Everything». _Pay attention to the small signs._ And Harvey? Harvey tended to be close-mouthed about the important details until he had no choice but to spit it out, but he knew everything. Harv’ who had told him about Flass being in the drug trade, who could find _anyone_ (especially Jim), who had been aware all along of Loeb’s hold on the GCPD. Neither of them dealt with the kind of secrets an Oswald Cobblepot would collect, but they did not need to. The tricks they knew and tidbits of intel they had were invaluable on the streets of Gotham.

Not that Jim was out on those streets at the moment. Their methods still applied.

_Know your enemy. Pay attention._

He did not know much about Margaret Crowne. She had retired years before. Jim had been a child, and his interest in Crowne Industries had been nonexistent. He was aware the company specialized in technology, but not with as much success as Wayne Enterprises. The cop could not name a single of Crowne Industries’ projects. They manufactured parts. Their locks were very good, as well as their security systems but, in the last decade, they had not really released anything innovative enough to be publicly noticed. But their locks were very good, and so were their security systems, and they had been for half a century. Not the best. Not good enough for, say, a bank. But if you did not have to resist an heavily armed raid, Crowne’s products were more than enough. As for the woman herself… She was a recluse. Her son spoke of her with great affection. That was about it. Jim did not even know if they were still in contact.

He could probably learn more from Nate, but it would be an heavily redacted version of the truth.

Maybe there was a way to trick her, and to be called upstairs.

A scream startled him out of his thoughts. _Scottie._ He ran out just in time to see her leave her house and puke next to the door.

«What happened?» he asked, joining her.

She stared at him, panting, then puked again. He kept her hair out of her face. Nate and Sophie, in their pajamas, came running, and stopped a few feet away.

«There’s a… There’s hair», Scottie explained, gagging. «I t-tried moving the wardrobe, something didn’t smell right. I thought the cat had-»

She gasped.

Nate stared at her, expressionless, then closed his eyes.

«I’ll clean it up», he said, walking into the house.

Jim looked at Sophie, who put a hand on Scottie’s shoulder. The cop nodded and followed Nate to the bedroom. The man crouched next to the wardrobe and picked a long strand of dark hair from the ground. It was still attached to a piece of rotting flesh.

«Must have missed it», Nate commented.

His expression had not changed. It was vacant. His eyes were staring into the distance.

Jim took a long, hard look at the hair, then at the room. The carpet was new. The walls and ceiling had been freshly painted.

«This was Sabrina’s home, wasn’t it?»

His fellow prisoner did not answer, but put the hair back on the carpet, dropped to his knees and tried to look under the wardrobe. He stood up and pushed the thing away, looking for other bits of flesh. Jim helped him lift the piece of furniture, so he could inspect its bottom. They found nothing. Nate shook his head, grabbed the rotting flesh and hair without as much as blinking, and left. The detective stayed behind and inspected the bedroom, running his hands along the walls, checking for dents and bloodstains. He found scratches and indentations, especially over the bed. The bed itself was intact, and the mattress new, so Jim assumed they had both been changed after Sabrina’s death.

He shook his head and left the room, joining Scottie and Sophie outside.

«Can she stay with you?» the brunette asked.

«I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine», Scottie assured. «I’ll just, ah, sleep on my sofa. I-»

«She can stay at my place», a man said, nearly too quietly to be heard. «There’s more than enough room.»

It wasn’t Nate, and Jim whirled towards the voice. He found himself face to face with David Sirkis. The man did not look like himself anymore. Not much, anyway. All the pictures in his case file had shown him as handsome and smiling, at his best, in a suit. Now, his features were gaunt and he had small new scars on his face, most of them surrounded with fresh scratches. His shoulders were sagging. His clothes had obviously not been changed in days.

_Sabrina_ _’s match._

Jim took a better look at his face, remembered the nicks in the bedroom’s wall, and memories of the desert and of IEDs flooded back.

_That poor man._

«David!», Sophie exclaimed. «You’re out?»

Sirkis smiled, a small but charming smile, that didn’t look forced despite his tangible weariness.

«I am. Nice evening. And I’m glad to meet the newcomers.»

Scottie stared at him.

«Ah, p-pleased to meet you», she said. «I’m Scottie. Scottie Mullens.»

«David Sirkis. And my offer still stands. I have a very nice sofa in a… Slightly cheerier house. I’m not sure it would be proper to move in with your boyfriend so quickly», the man pointed out. «And Nate’s sofa… Well, do you _want_ to be mistaken for a trampoline? Because Shawn will mistake you for a trampoline.»

Jim studied his face. Sophie did the same, appearing concerned.

«Since we are all up», she cut in, «why don’t we have a nice cup of coffee? I have brownies, fresh from yesterday morning.»

 

###

 

«Oswald! Oswald, wake up! Please, please, _wake up_!»

 

###

 

Harvey crouched at the edge of the roof, feeling a bit queasy, and looked down to the balcony Kyle was perched on. They had followed Kean and Gilzean to their hideout - a tiny, derelict building south of Port Adams - and the kid was now trying to see how many men were guarding the place. Harvey had not asked her to. Nor had had asked her to join him on stakeout on the water district bridge, but it had not stopped the brat from slipping into his car. He had left her at Scottie’s (running to his car while the kid was taking a piss), and had hoped she wouldn’t be able to make her way to the bridge on foot. No such luck.

Not only had she joined the stakeout, she had refused to leave afterwards. She had announced her intentions and scaled the walls, forcing Harvey to follow her through the less physically intensive way of fire escapes and rooftops.

The kid was now flattened against the wall, attempting to peek through the windows. She inched closer, and closer, and closer, and then jumped back, revolted. She looked up at Harvey and grimaced vehemently.

«Come. Up. Here», he mouthed.

She climbed to him, still cringing.

«Ugh.»

«I take it the sight wasn’t nice?»

«I’ll just say they don’t have henchmen around and they don’t _want_ them there.»

«They’re fucking?»

The girl made a face worse than Jim’s when he faced broccoli. Harvey grinned.

«Heh, that’ll teach you to run off to spy on people. Think your virginal sensibilities will recover?»

Kyle looked about to strangle him but thought better of it.

«Anyway, they’re alone in there, but they have two men on the first floor. Not on the second. The third, the only thing I could see was their room. Maybe there’s someone guarding their door. I can’t tell.»

«Alright. Now fuck off, I don’t want you around when the shooting starts.»

«What, you’re gonna charge inside on your own like Gordon does?»

He rolled his eyes.

«Do I look like a charging kind of guy?»

«Well, you have everything of an ox…»

« _Funny_. Never heard that one before.»

«So what are you gonna do?»

Harvey rolled his eyes and called the precinct. He didn’t need much backup, just the one ambulance and the one patrol car, which he requested. Then he quietly made his way back to the ground, with Kyle observing him from above. He waited for the ambulance to arrive, sirens on. When it parked on the other side of the street, the cop quietly made his way to the side of Kean’s hideout.

One of her two guards ran out to investigate the disturbance. Harvey slipped behind him, unnoticed, and walked into the building, locking the door behind him. It was an armored door, too, so the guy would not force his way in any time soon. Taking the other guard out did not prove too difficult, seeing how the point of the hideout was to _not_ be found, and he was not expecting intruders. Once that was done, Harvey cleared the first and second floors’ rooms, then climbed the stairs to the third.

There were only two doors on that floor, which made things easy. He peeked into the left room - an empty bedroom with closed blinds - then turned to the right. He could hear a shower running. Harvey opened the door, hoping to find Kean instead of Gilzean. She was the shitty shot. Gilzean tended to be efficient.

The cop got his wish. Not only was Barbara alone, she had no weapon at the ready. She was lounging on the bed, in a crumpled black dress, and stared at him with wide eyes. He walked to the bathroom door and blocked it with a chair, keeping his gun pointed at her.

«Let’s make this brief. _Where. Are. They?_ »

She blinked.

«You’ll have to be more specific. They _who?_ »

«Jim and Scottie, you bitch.»

Kean leaned forward, frowning.

«What do you mean, Jim and Scottie? I thought Jim was on a trip!»

«Good try. Not that I trust you, so you’ll have to do more convin-»

The cop froze as a gun was pressed to the back of his head.

«Get away from the lady and drop your weapon», Gilzean ordered from behind.

 _I should have cleared that fucking room properly_.

«Alright, alright, no need to get testy», Harvey said, doing as asked. «I just came to talk.»

Gilzean chuckled and pushed him against the wall, pressing the barrel of his gun against his throat.

«Sure looked like it», he retorted, smirking. «It’s not like you’re pussying out or anything.»

The detective was about to snap something back -plenty of choice words to pick from, really - but stopped as he took a look at Butch. The man was only wearing pants and an unbuttoned shirt, leaving his chest exposed.

«Holy shit», Harvey blurted out.

There wasn’t an inch of intact skin on there. Gilzean was bleeding from several sutured wounds, and the rest of his chest was an horrendous mess of burns and scar tissue. You could see a chessboard pattern from his left shoulder to his diaphragm, where the skin had been ripped away in alternating squares. Zsasz enjoyed his job.

_This is why Fish made you promise to find the man._

Gilzean’s smirk faded and he clenched his teeth, punching Harvey in the stomach. The cop fell to his knees. Butch took a step back and buttoned his shirt. Kean joined him, pressing herself against his back and kissing his shoulder. The anger left Gilzean’s face, to be replaced by a mean, contented smile. He didn’t look like himself anymore. Harvey knew the signs. In any other city, people would have told you that mental illnesses were not contagious. In Gotham, insanity spread like a plague. Kean had caught it from Lennon and was passing it on.

«Nice of him to deliver himself, right?» Butch said, turning to Barbara to kiss her. «What do we do with him?»

The woman frowned and thought about it.

«He thinks we have Jim. Do we have Jim?»

Gilzean stared at her. He stared some more. He took a deep breath.

«Did _you_ capture Gordon?» he asked.

«When would I have kidnapped James? _I was busy rescuing you_ , in case you hadn't noticed.»

« _Well I was busy being held hostage_ , so if _you_ didn’t capture Gordon, I’m pretty sure we don’t have him. And you were not _that_ busy. You had plenty of time to steal that upturned bike sculpture thing!»

 _«_ I-»

Harvey groaned. The pain in his stomach was slowly leaving, to be replaced by ice.

«You don’t have them», he muttered.

So where were they? Shit, where were they? He had no leads at all.

« _No_ , we don’t have them», Kean snapped. «When would I have snatched them? In case you didn’t know,I had to spend the week taking Cobblepot out! And, as far as your fuck buddy is concerned, _why_ would I have abducted her?»

«Dunno», Harvey mumbled. «To get at Jim by hurting me?»

«Point. That was on my list, actually. But that’s hardly relevant _because I was otherwise occupied._ »

The cop buried his face in his hands.

No leads.

And no way out.

«That patrol car outside, they know you’re in here?» Gilzean asked him.

«Yeah.»

The thug let out a deep sigh.

«Damn. There’s only so many hostage situations you can fit in a day before it gets boring, you know?»

Barbara rolled her eyes and collected a jeans and a hoodie from a duffel bag, then stripped naked and changed. Gilzean froze and watched her. Harvey turned away in disgust. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything. Just repulsive. Had to be the psycho vibe or something of the kind.

«I’ll get out through the roofs», she announced. «If they arrest you, I’ll be getting you out, ‘kay?»

And she ran out through the window, climbing on the balcony ledge just as Selina Kyle had done it, and scaling the wall to get to the roof. They heard her footsteps above them. That was the same damsel in distress who had been sitting paralyzed in Falcone’s mansion. Harvey could barely wrap his head around it.

«Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to actually fuck her», he commented. «Weren’t you ever told not to stick your dick in crazy?»

Gilzean shrugged, and small bloodstains spread on his sleeve.

«I like her just fine», he replied, grinning. «Tons of fun.»

«Yeah. I’ll pass. I get the feeling you get intimate with Barbara Kean the way you get intimate with genital warts. You don’t know what you get into and you end up begging to get rid of them.»

Butch laughed, for way too long, and way too loud. He stopped abruptly, returning to his normal, composed self. Harvey was nearly fooled, but the eyes gave it away. A tad too open, a tad too unfocused. The cop tried to grab his gun from the floor, but Gilzean was faster and kicked it out of his reach, then pointed his own weapon at Harvey’s face.

He grinned.

The detective went for the only words that could possibly connect with the Butch Gilzean he knew.

«Fish might be alive», he said.

 

###


	35. Chapter 35

«Please wake up now. Please, please. There are people waiting for you. We need to go!»

 

###

 

Harvey had not set out to end up an hostage. The whole point of calling for backup was to _have_ backup. Your support team was supposed to wait for you, and to help you out. He had been cautious. He had asked for an ambulance _and_ a patrol car. And then, when Gilzean had pushed him out of the building, with a gun against his back, both vehicles had been empty.

«Well, that’s convenient», Butch had commented.

The bastard had been ready to shoot his way out, with Harvey as a shield, so _of course_ it was convenient for him. For the cop, not so much, especially since the henchman he had locked out of the hideout had promptly joined them. He had found himself cuffed on the backseat of Gilzean’s car (as he didn’t fit in the trunk, which would have been the preferred transportation method), on his way to Barbara Kean’s next safe house.

It could have been worse. Gilzean was acting more or less like himself, now. Mentioning Fish had been like flipping a switch. The man had gone from homicidal to worried sick in the span of a second. Then he had stared at Harvey and asked «Fish?», three times, in a growingly strangled voice. Now, Butch had always been a wimp, Bullock knew that. Though when he had the upper hand, an absolute wuss the rest of the time. But he wasn’t the crying kind. He had still been near tears at the news, completely distraught.

Harvey had given him a pass. Considering the disaster scene under his shirt, the man had been through a few bad weeks.

A good ten minutes had been spent explaining the Dollmaker theory, and five more getting screamed at.

«Why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me?», Gilzean had ranted. «I could have looked for her! I have resources you don’t!»

«And when would I have told you, jackass? While you were working for Cobblepot, or while you were busy stealing Picassos with your psychotic cunt of a girlfriend?»

That had not gone over well. Harvey’s forehead was still bleeding. But he had not been shot. That was _something_.

They drove around town for half an hour. Gilzean spent most of that time on the phone, talking to his team, or trying to contact Kean. He left several messages, before she finally called back. Then they made a quicker trip to an abandoned factory downtown, and Harvey found himself locked in a cage in the basement, waiting for the «boss» to arrive.

Gilzean took a seat on the other side of the bars, to keep him company.

«About Kean», Harvey asked.

«What about her?»

«I’m just thinking she’s not your type.»

«Blonde?»

«I meant crazy.»

«Come on, have you met Fish?»

The cop chuckled, then sighed.

«We both know it’s not the same brand of crazy. What the hell, Gilzean? You’ve never been one of the nice guys, but this is Arkham level shit. Why don’t you walk away? How the _fuck_ did you even end up working for her?»

«She bought me.»

«I’m sorry, she _what_ now?»

«She bought me. From Cobblepot. As a sidekick. When she bought her own way out after the whole ‘slashing Leslie Thompkins’ throat’ incident. Penguin never lost her, he had me drive her to the club so he could murder her behind Gordon’s back. He was none too pleased about looking like an idiot in front of his crush, see. But then she threw a few millions at him, and he let us go.»

The cop stared at him, leaning back against his cage’s bars.

«Bought you», he repeated.

«Yep. For more than what I was worth, too.»

«I never paid much attention in history class, but I’m pretty sure we had a war to abolish slavery.»

«Heh. I know quite a few pimps who didn’t get the memo.»

«Kean, though? She’s not exactly keeping you chained in her basement.»

Gilzean grinned. It was _her_ grin, too, the same fucked up, crazy thing she had served Leslie after waking up in her bed, right before being sent to Arkham. The one you got when your sanity checked out and all that remained was your hatred.

«She’s fun», the man said.

Harvey didn’t comment. _Like flipping a switch, moron._ He should have stayed well clear of Barbara Kean’s topic.

Butch stood up, still smiling, and walked to the cage.

«Wanna know what I did today, Harv’?»

«I assume something that didn’t end too well for Cobblepot? Is he dead?»

Gilzean chuckled.

«Nah. I stabbed him some, called an ambulance. I figured it would be _poetic justice_ if he were to wake up in an hospital room, as a fallen crime lord, face to face with his nemesis.»

The cop remained silent.

«Okay», Butch conceded. «I just thought Giulia would crucify him. I kind of want to see that. It’ll be hilarious.»

«She’s not the dramatic kind. She’s the efficient kind.»

«Nooo, you don’t get it. The funny part is him being put in Falcone’s position, and waking up, and slowly realizing that the tables were turned on him. But forget Penguin», Gilzean snapped, shrugging. «No, what I did today was _kill Victor Zsasz._ »

He giggled.

Harvey could not take a step back, so he moved to the side. _Shit_.

«And, I have to say», his jailer continued, «it’s _liberating_. It was _easy_ , see? Stab, stab, and he was gone. I _crawled_ and I _begged_ for weeks in that basement of his. I don’t think you can imagine the abject _terror_. Being shown parts of yourself that are not _meant_ to be seen, and having to plead and grovel to have them pushed back in. You. Can’t. Know.» - He chuckled. - «Well I know. And you know what? Stab, stab, that’s _all it takes_. You just have to let go of fear, and then you get to see that you have _nothing_ to be afraid of. Everything is one big, wacky, pathetic j-»

«Buuuuuuutch?» Kean’s voice called from upstairs.

«In here!» Gilzean shouted.

Harvey closed his eyes and breathed out.

She ran down the stairs, her hoodie open on the front, the t-shirt underneath torn down to her navel, leaving her bra and bloody scratch marks exposed. Her partner took the sight in and raised his eyebrows.

«I-I w-was attacked», she said, tearing up. «T-they t-tried to snatch m-e and-and-and I _ran_ b-but my b-best f-friend, she was stab… Stabbed, she w-was bleeding and p-please, can you help me?»

«Oh, the morons», Harvey groaned, realizing where his backup team had gone.

He hoped she had not killed them, wherever she had lured them with that little sob story.

Gilzean laughed. She grinned.

 

###

 

Gotham General, the best the city had to offer in the ways of healthcare, was the embodiment of Gotham’s essence. Too grand to maintain, built on promises, it bled money through every pipe and door. It was equipped with what had been the most modern medical technology, thirty years before, and it had never managed to recover the cost of said equipment. You couldn’t squeeze water from a stone, and an impoverished, uninsured population didn’t make for a steady source of income, at least not in the health business. It was derelict, patched up with string and duct tape, its walls yellowish, its tile cracked, its ceilings rotting at the corners if you knew where to look. It could barely afford to staff itself, so it was crowded with the sick, and yet there was hardly ever a doctor in sight.

Today, there were none. The word that Oswald Cobblepot had been admitted had traveled fast and far. When Guilia walked into the main hall, it was near empty, and the «king» was not even out of surgery. Her men were there, obviously, as well as Carmine’s. As for Falcone, he was quietly sitting in the waiting room, hat on, and talking with Gillian Loeb.

Maroni made sure Cristiano was by her side, and joined them. Loeb had her back to her and did not notice her at all. Carmine pretended not to.

«So where is she?» the cop was asking. «She called me. There’s no point hiding her.»

«As I was saying, I don’t know where young Miriam is», Falcone replied. «She was very slightly wounded, she received care, and she fled immediately after that. That’s all I know, and her whereabouts were not exactly my concern.»

Gillian clenched his teeth.

«I’m to assume you would have let her go?»

«I wouldn’t punish a child for the sins of her father, and your sins strike me as paltry to begin with. I know there’s nothing personal in your picking sides in a war I was about to lose.»

Giulia rolled her eyes.

«Are the two of you done exchanging pleasantries?»

Loeb turned to her, startled. Falcone merely smiled.

«Giulia, what a pleasure to see you.»

The greeting stunned Gillian, who looked at them both, and then at their men. No weapons were pointed at the opposite family. As a matter of fact, both sides were watching each other with the careful boredom of two teams who had spent weeks working next to each other. Not that the commissioner was aware of the truce. He stared at Giulia in utter confusion.

She ignored him.

«Any news?», she asked Carmine.

«Penguin is still in surgery. My man will come and warn us as soon as the surgeons are done.»

His «man». There was a fair amount of mystery around the informant the retired crime lord was using to collect intel on Cobblepot, but he seemed to do his job well. He had provided invaluable details on Penguin’s business, and that was from her point of view. She was certain Falcone kept the most valuable secrets to himself. He still swore he did not want to return to his role a leader, but she could see the temptation. Gotham was his life, and he _loved_ to pull the strings, as much as he pretended otherwise. He could not stand to remain a simple spectator when blubbering idiots were running his city into the ground.

She turned to Gillian.

«I couldn’t help but overhear your daughter is missing», she told him. «My men will help you look for her.»

Cristiano picked three men out of their team, and they walked to the door, waiting for the Loeb. He did not trust her - men of his kind scarcely had reasons to trust _anyone_ \- but left the room all the same. He was not stupid. There was no point turning her kind offer into a brutally enforced command.

«What do we have on the daughter?» she asked when the man’s footsteps could not be heard anymore.

«Gilzean injured her, but it was a grazing shot. She was in the same ambulance as Cobblepot, the EMS tended to her injury, but she slipped away from the emergency room. Apparently, she called her father, terrified that bad men would be coming for her… And, of course, he assumes those men would me mine, and not Kean’s.»

«You have to admit your sudden reappearance is fairly distracting. What about Penguin’s mother?»

«Still an hostage. My man tells me Zsasz was killed, and his entire team immediately aligned with Kean and Gilzean.»

She frowned. Kean had sent her a message through Carmine’s mole, a fairly cryptic offer that summed up to «I want to trade something I have against something you have». No further details had been provided. She was to call in a few days. Giulia had assumed the «something» the blonde wanted to exchange was Gertrude Kapelput, but she had lost all value the moment Penguin had found himself defenseless.

Well. The lunatic still had that Duchamp sculpture she had stolen a few days before.

Cristiano turned to the door, gun at the ready, and Giulia got her own weapon out. Gabe - Frankie’s Gabe, the backstabber, and Oswald’s right-hand man - had just entered the room. Carmine stood and joined them.

«Surgery is done», the thug announced. «They’re moving him to a room right now.»

She stared at him.

_No wonder Falcone_ _’s intel was so detailed._

He froze upon recognizing her, and cleared his throat.

«Mrs. Giulia. Uh. Maroni.»

«Gabe. What a surprise. A double-crosser, triple-crossing. You’re taking lessons from our friend Penguin, obviously.»

«Come on, Mrs. Maroni. I have kids, I could hardly keep working for a guy who stabs his people every time he feels offended, which is all the time and for shit reasons, by the way. I got an offer I took the offer.»

She rolled her eyes.

«Do you have a room number?» she asked.

«202.»

«Thank you very much. Let’s go, Cristiano.»

Falcone put a hand on her shoulder.

«If you’ll be so kind as to allow me five minutes with Penguin. I’d like to say my goodbyes.»

 

###


	36. Chapter 36

Oswald woke up confused, nauseated, and in unbearable pain. His sight was blurry and… Limited, as if-

He suddenly remembered _Gilzean_ and being stabbed - _myeyemyeye_ \- and tried to raise a hand to his face to-

«Hello, Oswald», someone said.

All he could distinguish was as silhouette over him and the black shape of a gun pointed to his face, but he did not need perfect vision to recognize his enemy. That voice was enough. It was Falcone - _Falcone_ \- and Carmine was not one to waste his breath gloating.

He fired.

 

###

 

A gun was a convenient thing, but it was noisy and required ammunition. Fish wanted none of the first and lacked the second, so she kept her weapon on her for emergencies, but did not use it. Blades were more convenient in both regards, and readily available in an hospital. She had stocked up on knives and scalpels. That being said, while noise was less of an issue, killing with a blade required to get close to your victim, and it was not an option. Dollmaker’s guards and nurses now traveled in packs, and were still actively looking for her. It made it difficult to find isolated targets. Fish’s recomposed body was also weak and fragile. Stretching motions were painful enough to force her pause and collect her breath. She could not afford to get in a fight.

It left her one option - the preferred weapon of cowards - poison.

Poison, too, was readily available in an illegal clinic. Spiking food was easy. Delivering a lethal dosage while keeping the poison undetectable was near impossible, however. It did not matter much. Most of the island’s sentries were puking their guts out. It gave Fish what she had set out to obtain: time.

You could not hide forever. Not when people knew you were present. So you had to leave, or had them believe you were gone.

She ran to the shore with a bag of food and tools over her shoulder. Mercenaries patrolled the waters around the island, and she had observed and timed said patrols. She had also found where the boats were anchored, four bowriders she had the keys for. She climbed into one, tied her bag to the seat, then attached a rope from that boat to another, jumped into that second boat, and drove it away from the shore, towing the first bowrider.

The next step involved flipping the first boat.

It took some effort. Falling into that water was not an option: it had been freezing by the shore, and the island itself had patches of snow. So, flipping the boat took lots of effort, cautious jumps between ships, solid knots, and many dragging attempts. She still succeeded. Retrieving the rope proved difficult too, and she could not avoid getting soaked up to the hips, but leaving it was not an option. She wanted the upturned bowrider to drift away with that bag of supplies perfectly tied to that seat, over waters deep enough that a corpse would never be found.

She drove back to shore, put her boat back in its place, and returned to the attic.

 

###

 

«So, let me get this straight», Kean started. «If she’s alive - which is a big if, but this is Gotham, stranger things have happened - then she’s being held on a mysterious hospital island, somewhere, by some crazy plastic surgeon calling himself the Dollmaker.»

«Huh, yeah», Gilzean confirmed.

Harvey, who was still in his cage and really thought it was the most pleasant side of the bars, nodded.

«I know the whole ‘Dollmaker’ story is a bit far fetched», Butch added, «but I swear-»

«Oh, no, I know about the Dollmaker. I called the press over his abducting street kids! It was Jim’s case. Also, Selina mentioned a few things about the snatchers.»

«Wait, Selina, Selina Kyle?» Gilzean asked.

He was confused. So was the blonde, who was probably not aware of Kyle having turned into Fish’s personal henchgirl.

«You know Selina?» she exclaimed.

«We’ve met. Prickly kid. She was holding a gun to Gordon’s face the last time I saw her. Long story. How do _you_ know her?»

«We were roommates of sorts. She _is_ a bit prickly, but she’s a good girl. Snips and spice and everything nice. We’ll have to check on her, really. I don’t like the idea of an innocent girl being on the streets. But we’ll have plenty of time for that. Now, as I was saying, I know about the Dollmaker. I’m sold. I’m in. We’re doing this.»

«We _are_?» Gilzean exclaimed.

«Of course we are. This is all so romantic. A damsel in distress, a prison in the middle of the ocean… We are doing this.»

Harvey snorted at the «damsel in distress» part, couldn’t help himself, and Gilzean chuckled in a way that still sounded like him. They both knew Maria. If she was alive on that island, they were likely to find the jailors crucified on the shore, the prisoners running the hospital, and Fish diversifying into piracy and smuggling. If Kean referred to her as a damsel in distress to her face, chances were she would get shot.

Fuck, he missed Fish.

«I’ll give a few calls», Gilzean announced, slowly but steadily giving in to hope . «See what I can find out. Maybe he has suppliers in town. I’ll-»

«Nah, that’ll take ages. Just put out a classified.»

«A what now?»

«Crime lady tired of looking like an Arkham escapee, in need of new face. Money not a problem.»

Both the men stared at her, stunned. That could actually work. Hell, that would _certainly_ work. It was common knowledge that she had a few millions laying around, and she was exactly the kind of potential customer that could lure the Dollmaker out.

She frowned when they failed to reply, mistaking their silence for doubt.

«He _is_ a plastic surgeon, isn’t he?»

Harvey cringed as Gilzean pulled her to him and kissed her with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas day.

«I’ll put the word out», the idiot said, moving back, and all but running to the stairs in his hurry to put the plan in motion.

She watched him go and there was a hint of the old Barbara Kean, there. She was smiling, but it was not a smirk. The look on her face could have been mistaken for fondness. It faded.

«What are your leads on James’ disappearance?» she snapped, turning to Harvey, eyes icy, jaw set.

«What _leads_? You think I’d have come after you if I had _other_ viable leads?»

«It’s nice to see your detective skills are consistent regardless of the circumstances», she commented. «Is Miss Mullens resilient? Bad things have been known to happen around you and Jim.»

Usually, when faced with emotions he didn’t care to examine, Harvey went with rage first and kept the rest for later analysis. It was easier, and by the time he calmed down, he had forgotten about all of those other pesky feelings. If that failed, he could numb himself with drink. He liked his misery like he liked, his vodka: on a slow and steady drip over his day. Sometimes, though, it hit him all at once, straight in the stomach: the fear, the guilt, the fury and the despair, ganging up on him.

No, he had no leads, and he had just lost « _how many?_ _»_ fucking hours chasing Gilzean and his maniac of a mistress. And, really, where was he supposed to look, at that point? Sure, Jim was on everyone’s shit list, but a lot of his enemies were not in a position to cause trouble. Maroni? Dead. Cobblepot? Otherwise occupied. Falcone? Retired. Flass? Dead. And the rest were either small time criminals Harvey had forgotten the name of, either very rich and powerful people whose name would never be revealed. Even considering all of that, Harvey could not fathom why Scottie would have been dragged into it. Nothing made _sense_. If their abduction had been related to Harvey and Jim’s work, there would have been some kind of message already. Blackmail. Taunting. Not absolute _silence_.

A year before, he would have given up after twenty-four hours. He would have assumed it was all the work of a freak, that they were dead and gone, that he could only prepare himself for the day their bones would be dug out of a shallow grave in the woods, or pulled out of the River if it was ever dragged. When Barbara had been snatched by the Ogre, it was what he had wanted Jim to do. It was sound reasoning. Harvey knew the statistics for those situations. But he was still looking for Fish - vaguely - and he _certainly_ would not have faced Kean for anyone else than Jim or Scottie.

«What _is it_ you want me to reply? Think I go out of my way to endanger people? I stayed well clear of Scottie while Lennon was after us. I stayed well clear of pissing criminals off for most of my life.»

Kean frowned.

« _You_ stayed well clear of her?» she said, sounding confused and skeptical.

«Yeah, I did. What is it to you?»

« _You_ did.»

Harvey sighed.

«I’m not discussing that.»

Her face twitched and broke and recomposed itself into a cold, disdainful expression.

«What have you looked into so far?»

«Let me see: you. The lady who lured him away from his house. A crystal ball.»

«You’ll have to give me more if you want me to find him.»

«Who says I want _you_ to find him? If he’s alive, I want to keep him that way.»

She rolled her eyes, putting her hands in her pockets and rocking on her heels. She had zipped her hoodie up, and you could see some brownish splatter stains on the front of it, but they looked old and had been washed at least once. The Cardinals were not a good choice of team if you wanted clothes that hid the bloodstains. She should have picked a White Sox hoodie. At least, they were black.

«I don’t want Jim dead», she declared. «I sincerely wish him well.»

«What kind of fucked up imaginary universe do you live in, lady? How can you even say that with a straight face after what you’ve put him through?»

She stared. She looked lost.

«Jim needs to learn.»

«Learn _what_?» Harvey snapped. «Suicidal ideation?»

The blonde blinked.

Jesus, dealing with the crazies was tiring. There was no point trying to converse with someone who had a different mindset every time the clock ticked.

She wrinkled her nose and tipped her head to the left, then to the right. She frowned. She bit her lower lip. Then her expression grew warm and tender.

«Love», she said. «Jim is a good man, he is. But he’s not the man he believes he is, because he does not know how to care. It’s not his fault. He’ll get there. He just has to see.»

The cop remained silent. That was quite a different story from the «you killed my serial killer of a boyfriend and I’ll return the favor» she had served Jim on the day she had faked Leslie’s death. It was just as nuts. The sooner she returned to Arkham, the better. Hell, the sooner she got to the morgue the better. There was no hope of rehabilitation here. She would just torture Jim to the end of her days.

«I will look for him with or without your help, you know, Harv’?» she pointed out.

He didn’t answer that either. She huffed, shrugged, and left.

 

###

 

They wrote in each other’s hands. _That_ was the only method of communication Nate and Sophie had. At least, it was the only one Jim had noticed. The two of them were discreet about him, but you could sometimes catch the quick motion of their thumbs when they were holding hands. The cop had also watched David try it on Scottie, under the table, while they all drank Sophie’s perfect coffee and ate her homemade brownies.

It had been eerie, that first prisoner meeting. Nate had joined them after ten minutes or so, having disposed of Sabrina’s remains. His whole demeanor had been so welcoming and cheerful that you could have mistaken him for a different man. Sophie had played the perfect housewife. David Sirkis had been charming and polite, and had focused entirely on Scottie, sitting next to her and asking her about her day. Fishstick, the cat Sabrina had «taken with her» when she had vanished, had spent his time climbing onto the man’s lap and begging to be petted. Jim and Scottie had tried their best to fit into the atmosphere. The redhead had still been shaking. The blond had been observing everything and everyone, while pretending to be having fun.

In the end, Scottie had accepted David’s offer to stay at his place. Jim had tried to offer his own sofa, then to abandon his own bedroom to Scottie to offer himself as Sirkis’ roommate, but that had been in vain. Clearly, Scottie wanted to try and investigate their situation, and David was trying to communicate. She was also a counselor with a passion for helping people, and the banker looked like he needed comfort.Obviously, she was not going to drop the ball.

He watched the two of them make their way to the third house, and stayed behind with Sophie, who was waving them goodbye.

Nate was nowhere in sight. He had mentioned having to check on Shawn.

«It was a nice evening», Jim told Sophie. «Thank you very much.»

«Don’t mention it. We’ll have to do this again.»

He grabbed her hand behind her back. He was fairly certain no cameras could catch the motion. They were too close to the house’s walls.

The woman barely reacted.

«I totally agree.» - He tried to write. P-O-S-T-I. - «Maybe at my place?»

He paused so she would understand his first attempt had failed, then attempted to draw the letters again. P-O-S-T-C-A-R-D.

Sophie turned her hand and traced a question mark on his palm.

«I, uh, maybe?» she replied.

He tried not to frown. His face was still filmed.

«Maybe tomorrow? You and your husband, in the early afternoon? I swear I can make good coffee. I’m a cop.»

S-U-I-C-I-D-E-N-O-T, he wrote.

He felt the brunette tense.

«Of course», she said with a warm smile. «I’ll be sure to tell Nate!»

 

###

###

###


	37. Chapter 37

Oswald was not so sure he was still king of Gotham, but he firmly retained his seat as the king of the narrow escape.

He was still unclear on how he had found himself in an hospital gown, on the backseat of a police car driven by Gillian Loeb, with Miriam pointing a gun at her father’s head and ordering him to drive. He was confident he would manage to unscramble his memories at some point.

“I’m sorry, daddy”, Miriam said, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but no one is going to hurt Oswald.”

“Listen to me! Oswald is not a good person!”, Gillian snapped, still watching the road. “You’re just getting yourself in deep trouble.”

“JUSTDRIVEJUSTDRIVEJUSTDRIVE!” the girl screamed, covering her ears, which was not a wise thing to do with a weapon.

Oswald, who still felt drugged and dazed, leaned forward.

“Give me the gun, Miriam. No one needs to be hurt. We can all drive away and get out of this safe and healthy.”

She gave him the gun. He pointed it at Gillian.

“MIRIAM!”, the cop shouted.

“ _Oswald knows what to do!_ ”

Her trust was quite flattering, if a bit misplaced. Oswald was in quite a lot of pain. He was quite confused. He had just awoken from a long surgery. His planning abilities were not up to par. He could not see clearly - though his vision was slowly improving in his unharmed eye - let alone _think_ clearly.

“Let’s escape our pursuers, for a start”, he said. “Then we will see about amicably parting ways.”

They _had_ pursuers, which Gillian - despite his perfect health - seemed to have forgotten. The commissioner focused on the road, going silent. Miriam crumpled on the passenger seat. She was covered in blood but, as far as Cobblepot could tell, none of it was hers.

She was so very proud of her skill for stealth. She could be “really silent and still”. She needed to, to catch her birds. Carmine had not noticed her hiding in the hospital room wardrobe. What a coincidence, really, “Falcone” faced with a bird catcher. She had grabbed him by the throat just as he was trying to shoot Oswald - the bullet had missed his head by a few inches - and she had dragged the old fool to the floor. There had been moaning and gurgling, and red everywhere, but Cobblepot was not sure of the extent of Falcone’s injuries. All he knew was that Miriam had stabbed him, repeatedly.

“I got your knife”, she had told him. “On the docks. I took your knife.”

How he adored the girl.

“You didn’t drown”, he had commented.

“Why would I have drowned? I was on my school’s swimming-”

They had been interrupted by thugs, and Oswald had been forced to grab Carmine’s gun and to use Miriam as a shield.

“Please trust me”, he had murmured. “We need to get out.”

The events after that were hard to sort. There had been some threatening, some pretending to push the young woman towards the hospital’s exit, when she was in fact doing the guiding. Then they had crossed paths with her father.

Oswald closed his eye. Looking around hurt. It was difficult, too. He had to force himself to focus, and to squint. It made his headache worse. As for his wounded eye… He had not removed the eyepatch. In all likelihood, he had been blinded.

The thought made him shiver.

But the eye was _nothing_. Gilzean and Kean had his mother. They would have to be found. He could not allow himself to wait to recover.

“Give me your phone, Gillian”, he ordered.

The cop did not answer.

“Miriam, please hand me your father’s phone”, Oswald asked. “I need to call Gabe.”

“NO!” she exclaimed, turning to him. “You can’t! He was the one who called all of those bad people!”

Cobblepot’s blood went cold, then red hot.

“Gabe”, he said.

“Yes! He called the man who came to hurt you. He told the woman which room you were in.”

“ _Gabe._ ”

He worked for Falcone. And Giulia Maroni. Who were, against all odds, collaborating.

“You sound surprised”, Gillian commented. “I would have thought you’d know by now that you reap what you sow.”

Oswald clenched his teeth.

“ _Drive._ ”

“We lost them.”

“They will find us quickly enough”, Cobblepot snapped back. Then he realized a patrol car would be tracked by GPS. “We need to change cars. _Stop right now._ ”

Gillian did not even slow, so the criminal had to aim the gun at his head again. Miriam squeaked, but he hoped she’d understand he would not kill her father. Not under her eyes, anyway. If he ever did, he would have to keep it from her.

There was one good thing to be said about Loeb: he did love his daughter. Obviously, he would never receive the father of the year medals, and condemning Miriam to a “Flowers In The Attic” upbringing had been an asinine decision, but he cared for her. Enough to turn against the men who had been escorting him - Maroni’s, no doubt - but not to leave witnesses of their escape. If they had been caught on camera, all there was to see was Oswald holding Miriam hostage and forcing her father to follow them to the parking lot. No one would ever suspect Gillian had gunned their way out. The blame would be squarely placed on Cobblepot’s shoulders.

Of course, the man just wanted to grab his daughter and run. He was having difficulties convincing her to follow him, however. Miriam was having none of it. She wanted Oswald safe. She also wanted to avenge Victor. She had mentioned making Gilzean sing.

Cobblepot rather felt like if he had found his long lost sister.

Gillian parked.

“Good”, Oswald said, getting out of the car.

Miriam followed him and took his arm. Her father joined them, but Oswald took a step back.

A young woman (or a thin man with long hair, it was hard to tell) watched them from a few feet away, stunned, next to her (or his) own car. The SUV’s door was opened.

It would do.

Oswald pointed his gun in her general direction.

“If you would be so kind as to hand me your keys”, he said. “And your coat.”

 

###

 

Harvey was trying to open his cage, not with much success. He had no weapons, so he was trying to pick the lock with the only available bit of metal at his disposal: his belt buckle. It wasn’t going too well. Then again, what was he supposed to do? Wait around for Kean to switch from mean-confused-crazy to killing-spree-crazy?

“Open, you bloody piece of crap”, he swore under his breath.

Selina Kyle dropped down from the ceiling and landed right in front of him.

“It will be easier with this”, she said, dangling the keys between them.

Alright. Whatever he had said about her stalkerish, kleptomaniacal tendencies, he took it back.

“God, kiddo, I’m so glad to see you.”

She unlocked the cage’s door, raising her eyebrows. He walked out of it, putting his belt back on.

“She’s alone upstairs”, Kyle said. “Watching Silence of the Lambs. We can probably slip by without being seen, if you _do as I say_.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t try to get near her, though, unless you wanna get stabbed.”

Harvey considered it. Kean was just some pretty socialite with two knives, and maybe a gun. He had arrested worse. He could probably take her down. Of course, he couldn’t hurt her too bad - Jim would throw a fit, if he was alive - but she didn’t need the use of both legs or anything.

Shit, he was going to have to do it. It was better for everyone involved, especially Jim. Maybe even Gilzean, who still showed signs of sanity. Of course, using Barbara as bait for the Dollmaker sounded fairly nice, but… No, it did sound fairly nice. It was his only shot at finding Fish. Then again, it would come at the cost of letting a psychotic killer roam the streets, when she fairly openly admitted she’d been planning to go after Scottie. And she had gone after Sarah’s kids.

Aw, shit.

“I’ll need my gun.”

Selina reached under her vest and handed him the weapon.

“It’s unloaded”, she announced.

“You checked?”

There was a pause.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Harvey frowned but followed her out of the basement. Then he dropped her and started searching for Kean. The brat stared at him and mouthed a “are you crazy?”, but stayed right behind him. They found Barbara’s “TV corner”, a part of the warehouse walled by crates, with a mattress on the floor, and a TV and VCR on a box a few feet away. The mattress was covered in guns but Kean was not on it.

Which meant there would be no arresting of a psychotic killer, because the psychotic killer was lying in wait somewhere.

Harvey cringed. Selina looked up.

“Hey, jerk-o!” Kean called from her perch on the crates.

That fucking grin was getting old. The cop grabbed Kyle and dove behind cover, just in time to avoid getting shot.

“Aw _come on_!” he shouted.

 _Jerk-o_. Someone held a grudge from that Ogre thing.

“You should really have stayed in that cage, Harvey dear”, she said. “It was safer.”

He tried to peek at her, from the side of the box he had found refuge behind, but she shot in his general direction. Kyle started crawling away, remaining out of the bitch’s sight.

“I’m going to tell you what”*, Kean said. There was a creaking noise on her side. “I’m going to hunt you down. You don’t want me around.” - She jumped from her crate to the box Harvey was using as cover. - “I’ll bring you down to your knees. _Down to your knees_.”*

“I’malreadyonmyknees”, the detective snapped, raising his hands up in the air. “Don’t shoot.”

“Barb’, please, don’t shoot!” Selina Kyle added after slipping behind another crate.

“You disappoint me, Selina”, Barbara replied. “Why would you help him escape? I thought you were a _smart_ girl.”

“I _owe_ him. When Jim got those assassins after me, he went to Fish Mooney and found out where I was!”

The maniac paused. Bullock held his breath. Her gun was aimed straight at his face.

“He _did_?” the blonde exclaimed.

“Yeah.”

“How is it that you seem to know everyone in town? Butch said he knew you too.”

“That’s because Fish took me in after you were, uh, _it_ _’s a long story_ , just let us go!”

“I get it, you owe him. You did everything you could. Above and beyond the call of duty, or so they say”, Kean assured her. “So don’t feel gui-”

Harvey kicked the box from under her.

 

###

 

Nate looked down at Scottie’s suicide note, read it all over again, and crumpled it up. Next to him, Sophie pursed her lips. David stared at them from the sofa, puzzled, next to a frowning Jim Gordon. The cop was trying to write his own note, something that could be sent to his girlfriend outside, and very likely passed on to the detectives who worked on Sabrina’s and Delores’ cases. They would know about the suicide notes. They would know about the fake postcards.

Nate had not felt hope in more than five years. It was strange to rediscover the emotion. He let himself enjoy it, even if it was beyond stupid.

Nothing would come from this.

“It won’t do”, Nate told the redhead. “It does not sound convincing. Mrs. Valentine will not approve of it.”

She sighed and raised her hands in exasperation.

“It’s the fifth try! How many times do I have to pour my heart out before you are happy with the results?”

“I don’t _know_. But Mrs. Valentine will know it does not sound right, and she’ll have you write another anyway.”

Scottie groaned and grabbed a new sheet of paper. Gordon walked to them and gave his own message to Nate. It was terse, to the point.

“Undercover. Will contact you soon”, it said. “Tell Harvey not to look for me.”

That one would pass their jailer’s scrutiny. It fit the cop. It was credible. Nate nodded and put it aside, making sure to press his ungloved fingers to the paper as much as possible. Could you retrieve fingerprints from paper? He had no idea.

“I don’t know what to write”, Scottie said. “It’s just not-”

“It’s not you”, David cut in. “It’s okay, I have an idea.”

Nate frowned and turned to his fellow prisoner. He was getting livelier, which was good, seeing how much he had been destroyed by Sabrina’s death, but he was not the same as before. Not by a long shot.

“You do?” Gordon asked.

“Yes. Scottie is not _suicidal_. You would _never_ be”, he added, turning to the woman. “That’s the problem. You would never want to die, and you’re not afraid either, so you would never want to run. That’s why you can’t make it work. You need another scenario.”

“I don’t see what”, she replied, sighing again.

David smiled, dashing and warm.

“Just start by ‘Harvey. First, I’d like to say I’m sorry’”, he told her. “I suppose you and Leslie have figured out what we have done by now…”

Nate gaped as the words sunk in and the idea behind them surfaced. _That_ would not be credible, not by a long shot. But it would sound romantic enough for the lunatic upstairs.

 

###

###

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Barbara's song: You Don't Want Me Around - The Federal Ft. Rachael Kime


	38. Chapter 38

 “Park”, Oswald said after ordering Gillian to turn into a deserted street.

The crime lord had found it exceedingly difficult to guide them to this part of town. He knew Gotham like the back of his hand, but he was used to seeing it with two eyes and 20/20 vision. Now, the streets were a mess of lights and colors. Oswald sincerely hoped his good eye would adjust quickly. His head hurt more and more. He could blame some of the pain on the painkillers’ effect fading, but he knew some of the headache was caused by his forcing himself to focus. It was difficult.

Eyesight issues aside, he had managed to get near his destination without quite telling Loeb about his destination, which was great.

The commissioner parked as requested.

“Everyone out”, Oswald ordered, waiting for Miriam and Gillian to exit the car before doing so himself, in case the commissioner felt like driving away when Oswald got out of the vehicle.

He joined them outside, shivering as a chilly breeze hit him. He had a coat, now, but he was still wearing it over his hospital gown. He needed pants, and shoes. Miriam saw him shudder and ran to him, taking his arm. Oswald was still holding his gun in his other hand, and he pointed it away from her.

“Gillian, I have to thank you for helping me in this dire situation”, he said, “but I believe we can now part ways.”

The cop nodded, keeping his face neutral. Then he bluffed, knowing that Miriam had never been aware that her stay at the mansion was an hostage situation.

“Very well. Miriam, let’s go.”

Obviously, he had picked up on Oswald’s fondness for the young woman, or he would not have tried something that could result in her being dragged away at gunpoint.

The young woman hesitated, looking from her father to Cobblepot, opening and closing her mouth. Her face went through all the variations of confusion and guilt.

“I don’t want to”, she finally said. “I’m staying with Oswald.”

Gillian frowned.

“Now don’t be ridiculous. He is leading a very dangerous life. We need to get you to safety. I’m sure Oswald himself will agree”, he added, pressing his advantage.

Cobblepot pursed his lips and wondered if conceding was an acceptable course of action.

“ _I_ _’m staying with him_ ”, the blonde snapped. “I’m a grown up. YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO ANYMORE. And Oswald is nice to me and he needs me.”

Her father took a step forward.

“Nice? He is a criminal, Miriam! He-”

It was actually quite impressive how quietly, yet threateningly, she could get a knife out of her pocket. For added effect, the blade was caked with blood, and her hands were still stained. Gillian stopped.

“Let’s not argue”, Oswald cut in. “Your daughter will come with me if she so desires. I would be very pleased to have her by my side”, he added, smiling to her, then turning to the cop again. “She will be perfectly safe. I intend to visit a friend for a few days, we will not be found. Can I talk to you privately, Gillian?”

Miriam frowned but let him detach himself. The commissioner clenched his teeth but followed him farther down the street, where she could not hear them.

“I don’t know what lies you told her to turn her against me, but I s-”

Oswald clicked his tongue.

“You’re sincerely surprised? I have not lied to her. I have not said a word against you.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“It’s stunning, isn’t it? It’s almost like allowing someone a modicum of personal freedom is more beneficial to their opinion of you than locking them up in an attic for nearly two decades.”

That shut Loeb up.

“Hand me your phone”, Cobblepot said.

He had not put his weapon away, so Gillian complied. Oswald snatched the device and removed the battery, then stuffed it into his coat’s pocket.

“Now, your pants and shoes, if you would be so kind.”

There was some protesting, so the criminal had to remind the policeman of which side the gun was pointed at. It took very little time, after that, for the pants and the shoes to be handed over. Oswald did not put them on, as he did not trust Gillian not to attack him the second he was distracted.

“Thank you”, he said instead. “Now walk to the very end of the street.”

Once again, the other man complied, not without shooting daggers at Cobblepot first. The younger man hopped back to the car.

“Get in, Miriam”, he told his friend. “And lock your door.”

She obeyed perfectly, then curled into a ball on the passenger seat.

“Will dad be okay?” she asked, looking to her father who was running towards them.

“He’ll be a bit cold for a while, but he’ll be picked up shortly.”

Oswald turned the keys in the ignition and started driving. It did not go over so well: pedals did not quite agree with his legs, and he was blind as a bat. Still, he managed to get the car to move forward. Staying in motion proved to be more difficult, since he had to use the wrong foot to press the gas pedal. Gillian caught up with them and tried to open the door on Miriam’s side. Oswald accelerated as much as he could without switching gears, and drove away with the engine roaring.

Getting into actual traffic was a nightmare, but he mostly managed. He did not bump into people nor other cars. He only stalled a few dozen times. He didn’t bother trying to park correctly, and just abandoned the car in the middle of store’s parking lot, over three spots.

“Let’s go”, he told Miriam, dropping the keys on the dashboard.

“Where are we going?”

“A friend. It’s not far”, he replied, leading the way.

It was a three streets walk, actually, but he did not want Loeb to figure out where they had gone.

A few minutes later, he was knocking on Leslie Thompkins’ door.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Doctor”, he told her when she opened. “Could you please let us in? I’m afraid I’m in need of some assistance.”

 

###

 

Kean was fast and resourceful - most of that resourcefulness being spent finding new places to hide knives - but she was a lightweight. As for Harvey, he had weight in spades, could have afforded to lose some, and had an unfair advantage on Barbara in that department. He could have knocked her down by standing in her way and not moving. Unsurprisingly, punching her in the face worked even better. Now, if landing that blow had been easier, he wouldn’t have complained. But no. There had been a fight to grab the gun she had dropped, and the lunatic was equipped with a butchery’s worth of blades.

He pushed the psychotic bitch face down against the floor and sat on her back, grabbing her hands and looking for something to tie her up with. Kyle volunteered a piece of rope.

“Nice of you to help _now_ ”, he snapped, panting.

The brat shrugged.

“She kind of had a point. I got you out of that cage, we’re even. And she had a butterfly knife.”

Harvey snorted and tied Kean’s wrists behind her back. The woman laughed, spat blood, then laughed again. Her nose was bleeding, but he couldn’t have cared less. His nose was not bleeding, but his everything else was.

“Fuck”, he said, standing up on shaky legs.

He looked down at his arms, and the bloody holes she had managed to carve in his coat. He removed it to inspect his wounds, but he could already say he was more pissed about the coat than about the stitches he would need. It was a damn good coat. It had survived storms, fights, and every projectile Fish had ever thrown at him. It felt more like a second skin than like a piece of clothing, and now it was ruined. Harvey sighed and threw it to the ground, then looked down at his arms. He had a few deep gashes, but he would not bleed out, and none of the wounds were muscle deep.

Kean rolled on her side and sat up, chuckling. She wiped her nose on her shoulder.

“You had strength and I had none and yet we both reached for the gun”*, she quoted. Then she giggled and started singing. “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes we both oh yes we both oh yes we both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun, the gun, oh yes we-”

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?” Harvey screamed.

She laughed. Kyle inched away and observed her ex-roommate from afar.

Harvey took a deep breath, went to the mattress in the corner of the room, and proceeded to cut strips out of the bedsheets to bandage his arms. Then he returned to Kean and hauled her up.

"You’re under arrest for the murder of Janet Cohen. You have the right to remain silent”, he recited. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“I can afford an attorney.”

“I know, sweet inheritance you smuggled away. D’you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

She wiped her nose on her shoulder again.

“Harvey, dearie, I’ve been told I’m not competent to stand trial on account of a whole new range of mental disorders being named after me.”

“‘Able to use fancy words despite blow to the head’, I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go”, he retorted, pushing her towards the exit. “Selina, find me car keys, and the car to go with them.”

Fifty minutes later, he was parking in front of the GCPD in his requisitioned vehicle. The stereo was blasting old rock, and Harvey’s head was about to explode, but it was still better than having to listen to Kean’s comments and song lyrics. He got out of the car, extracted his prisoner from its back, then dragged the woman inside the precinct. There was a long silence when people realized who he was bringing in, but he ignored everyone and just pushed her into a holding cell.

She started sobbing and curled up on the bench.

“Just cut it out”, Harvey said, rolling his eyes. “Think people have forgotten about your kidnapping of Essen’s kids already?”

Barbara looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, lower lip quivering.

“I-it w-was not m-my f-fault. I-I… It’s like there’s s-someone else inside of m-me, someone _bad_ and-”

The cop walked away and joined Sarah, who was hurrying down the stairs from her office.

“She doesn’t have Jim”, he told her. “Had no idea he was missing, Gilzean did not know either.”

The captain looked him up and down, staring at the slowly spreading red stains on his shirt and bandages.

“You need medical assistance, now.”

“Heh, it’s just a few stitches”, he muttered. “I’ll drive myself to Gotham General and have the cuts patched up. Think you can get Alvarez to handle Miss Crazypants? Cohen’s case is his, after all. It’s nice enough of me to deliver his perp, he can do the rest.”

“ _Not_ Gotham General”, Sarah replied.

“What d’you mean, not Gotham General?”

“Maroni has it on lockdown. Apparently, Cobblepot was admitted there-”

“Yeah, I hear Gilzean stabbed him some. How does Giulia enjoy her little gift?”

“He escaped.”

“Now _come on_ , how incompetent is the Mafia in this town? Is she trying to compete with her dead husband?”

“There’s worse”, Essen announced, lowering her voice. “Falcone was spotted _with_ her.”

Harvey’s train of thought did backflips.

“ _With_? Like, hostage?”

“No, like business associate. But that’s the last news we have. As I said, the hospital is on lockdown, everyone’s phone was confiscated.”

“Her entire fucking family hates Falcone, why the hell would she ally with him? All of her lieutenants will turn against her.”

“It’s still hearsay. But we might have a new war on our hands. As from today, Cobblepot is no longer in charge, and there’s a lot of people in line for his position.”

 

###

 

Crowne could not be spying on them all the time, Jim knew it, but testing the waters with risky conversations was too dangerous to be tried repeatedly. It mean his attempts at communication with Nate and Sophie were still limited. It was grating. Nate had submitted Scottie’s letter to their jailor, but if Nate knew the message had been mailed, he had not shared the information. Jim could only hope that Harvey had received it, and would understand which perp he was up against.

There was very little Jim could do from the inside. He was trying to befriend everyone, but could only do so while staying “in character”. There were still a few things he could observe.

Sophie was all but foaming at the mouth about her captivity. She was constantly enraged, even if she hid it well.

Nate was hard to read, and intended to stay so.

David was hanging on by a string. He seemed to find comfort in Scottie’s presence, which was unsurprising considering her experience as a counselor, but he remained hollow most of the time. He was cheerful and enthusiastic with her. In her absence, he answered to everything with a kind of bitter acceptance, and spent a lot of time staring into the distance.

Shawn was severely maladjusted to… All things and situations. That child had to get out and get out _soon_ if he was to ever recover from his captivity.

Scottie was trying to keep it together, to keep a balance, to wait for rescue, but she was exhausting herself trying.

Jim had to do _something_ , and did not know what, so he figured he could start by getting better acquainted with the enemy.

“Mrs. Valentine”, he asked one afternoon from his empty living room, when he was fairly certain the woman was watching them all. “I have a few questions about my… Future with Scottie. I don’t think I’m doing so well. Could we meet to discuss the issue?”

 

###

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Barbara's song: We both reached for the gun (Chicago, the musical)


	39. Chapter 39

 “Please, put that gun away”, Leslie Thompkins asked. “I am not going to run. I’m not going to scream for help. Frankly, it looks to me like you are the one who should.”

Oswald, who had sunk into the woman’s sofa and was keeping his gun more or less pointed at her, shook his head.

“ _Frankly_ , I feel more confident with the gun in my hand. Don’t take it personally. Is the cord cut, Miriam?”

He had told her to cut the telephone cord, but it was in another room and he did not see very clearly. He just wanted to close his eyes. Eye. The painkillers had entirely worn off, and the headache was unbearable. Not to mention the pain in his eye itself.

“IT IS!” Miriam shouted. “Anything else?”

“No, no.”

“Alright”, she replied, coming back to the living room.

“It would be amazing if you could turn the TV on, Miriam.” - People loved to hear their names. It made them like you more. - “I’d like to watch the news.”

She searched for the remote for barely a second, gave up, and walked to the television to press the power button and to flip the channels. Thompkins observed her. Oswald thought the doctor was frowning, but he wasn’t certain. His hands were shaking. He felt about to pass out.

“Let me see your wound”, Leslie said, sitting next to him.

He breathed in and removed the gauze taped to his face. He had not tried prior to that. He expected total darkness on that side, and was surprised by the light. But that was all there was to see. A bright blur.

“Don’t touch”, Thompkins exclaimed when he raised his hand to his face.

He had not meant to. He just wanted to assess what he could or could not distinguish. His hand still dropped. The doctor leaned closer, tilted his face up, towards the ceiling light, and focused on his eye. She muttered something about a lack of instruments, annoyed, then pinched her lips.

“You need to go back to the hospital”, she snapped. “At the very least, you need an ophtalmologist. I am in no way qualified to take care of those sutures.”

“It will be fine”, Oswald replied.

He knew it would not be. It was just like his leg injury: he had _known_ walking on it had been a terrible idea. He had _known_ the bone would never set properly. Yet, you did not always have a choice. Going to an hospital, back then, would have been a death sentence. The risk for his life was even greater today. He had no doubt Giulia had warned every business associate in the surrounding cities.

So he would lose an eye. He had another. But he could not endanger himself. If he died, who would rescue his mother?

“Any news of Jim?” he asked.

“None”, Thompkins lied.

Her tone was one of anxiety and false confidence. Oswald patted the hand she had placed on the armrest.

“You can tell me. I only have James’ best interests at mind.”

“I got a farewell letter. He needed to leave, in the company of a good friend.”

“It does not sound like him”, Oswald commented. “Who sent it?”

“Jim signed it. And I don’t see how this is any of your concern”, she replied, taping the gauze to his face again.

He clicked his tongue.

“Believe me or not, but I am skilled at figuring out the truth. At discovering secrets. At finding people.”

“And it will cost me a favor. I know.”

He frowned, and winced in pain.

“I have already obtained that favor and, trust me, you are not walking away. Not while I require medical assistance.”

“We’ll see about that when you inevitably pass out and I call an ambulance on you, Mister Cobblepot.”

“NO ONE IS CALLING AN AMBULANCE”, Miriam shouted, causing them both to jump.

There was a growling sound, low and threatening, and Thompkins gasped and stood up.

“Let him go!”

Oswald looked at Miriam, squinting. She was holding something that moved… She was holding Leslie’s cat and slowly pulling his head back, intending to snap its neck. Oh, that girl.

He smiled.

“Let the poor beast go, Miriam”, he said. “There’s no need for violence.”

The young woman obeyed, and the cat ran away, hiding under a dresser. It kept growling. Thompkins took a few steps in its direction, but stopped herself and turned to Miriam.

“Forgive my friend”, Cobblepot said. “She can be b-brusque when she she is worried.”

He felt faint. The doctor’s assessment had been right: he would pass out, sooner than later. That being said, Leslie was now overly aware that his losing consciousness did not in any way mean that she would be safe. Miriam was a lovely, lethal little thing.

Thompkins pursed her lips, staring at the blonde, then at Oswald. He went for a diversion.

“Have you found the news channel, Miriam?”

She jumped and shook her head, and turned to the TV again. Oswald breathed in and allowed himself to think. He could not allow himself to lay low for too long. It was not like after his faked execution. He had no time to spare. His mother needed him. No. He needed someone he could coerce into rescuing her, something he could offer as a trade, maybe. Of course, he would not make the mistake of personally taking part in the exchange, if it were to happen. He wished Jim was available. He would have made a fine hostage.

He closed his eye. The pain was horrendous and his eyesight was getting worse.

“What are your plans?” Thompkins asked. “You need better medical care than what I can provide. You need antibiotics. Eye drops. A specialist. If you don’t get all of that, you will lose the eye, and you better pray for an infection not to spread.”

“I was under the impression that your oath was ‘first, do no harm’. Do forget about sending me to a care facility, I’d be dead in thirty minutes. Just-”

The voice of a news anchor cut him off. What Oswald had heard had stunned him into silence.

“- full blown assault on the GCPD”, the journalist was saying. “It’s unclear yet what the criminals who have invaded the building want, but they are heavily armed and gunshots have been heard.”

 

***

 

Harvey had gotten his stitches at the closest clinic and returned to the precinct, fully hoping to have the rest of the day free to rack his brains about Jim’s abductor.

He had made sure not to be seen by Kean as he came back, as he really did not want a repeat of her little games. And the song lyrics. The nutjob had nearly made him hate music.

The cop had worked for nearly one hour, starting by making a list of his open cases and staring at it for a few solid seconds before calling himself an idiot. The explosive necklace guy had to be the kidnapper. He had snatched a _pair_. Pretty people. It couldn’t have been clearer. _“You are just as shitty a detective as everyone says_ ”, he had told himself. _“No wonder even the lunatics laugh at you”_.

He had spent the rest of the hour reviewing every lead, cursing himself all the while, until Gilzean’s team had streamed in.

“Hey people!” Butch had shouted. “It’s us again!”

Everyone had turned to the door and guns had been drawn. But everyone remembered about Sarah’s kids, and wondered if Gilzean had taken hostages. There had been a standoff as the assailants - an assorted mess of mafioso, mercenaries and small time thugs - spread over the bullpen. They had come in larger numbers this time. They outnumbered the cops. Their weapons were also much more impressive than a handgun: machine guns, shotguns, and three rocket launchers.

Gilzean just grinned.

“There has been a misunderstanding”, he announced to the room. “Seems like some of you are not aware of the new rules in town”, he explained, looking up to the balcony where Harvey was sitting until the cop met his eyes. “So I’ll explain.”

He turned to the holding cell and gestured at Kean, giving her a warm smile. She grinned back, pressing herself against the bars.

“Barbara Kean”, Gilzean said. “Crime lord. She is not to be touched. She is not to be disrespected. And, more importantly, she’s not to be arrested. That’s very unwise.” - He clicked his tongue. - “There are consequences. People die.”

One of the thugs armed with a rocked launcher turned to the left side of the room and shot. He hit a desk, and the people behind it. Everyone opened fire.

Kean dropped to the floor and Gilzean quietly took cover behind a pillar, laughing.

Harvey did not want to be a hero or anything. He laid flat on the floor and tried to aim at Butch’s men downstairs. Fighting was useless. Anyone in their line of fire was getting mowed down. If there _had_ been an exit readily accessible, Bullock would have fled. There was none. He could only hope for the best.

The gunshots died down as the cops either fell or realized the only thing they could do was surrender.

“ _It’s all your fault”_ , Harvey thought. “You should never have brought her in.”

He propped himself up to look at the damage as an eerie quiet filled the rooms. The only noises he could hear were moans, and there was blood everywhere. Bodies. Collins. Harper. A few others he couldn’t recognize, as they were turned away or had dropped face down. _Jesus Christ._

He saw Kean look up, then stand and look around. She chuckled, and she _laughed_.

“Hi, Mister G!”

“Hi boss”, Gilzean replied, moving from his hiding spot and walking to her.

She grinned. Everyone stared in horror. Butch turned to a group of living cops, and raised an eyebrow.

“Now is someone going to open that cell or do I have to shoot a few more guys? It’s all the same to me.”

Harvey could have shot him in the head and did not. He knew he was not the only one considering it. But no one was up for another round of machine gun fire.

Instead of killing him, he watched as the holding cells were opened by an officer who was leaving a trail of blood as he moved.

Barbara hopped out of her cell.

“You came for me!” she exclaimed, sounding absurdly girly.

“Hey, you know how it goes, boss”, Butch said. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and -”

She pressed herself against him and kissed him. He laughed deep in his throat as he returned the kiss.

“Alright, let’s go!” the blonde exclaimed when they moved apart. “And someone grab detective Bullock on the way out!”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was time for me to move my ass and climb back on the writing train, before the season starts in earnest.


	40. Chapter 40

Giulia watched Carmine stand from his seat, slowly and carefully, as his healing stab wounds still troubled him. It had been four days since she had brought him home - right after he had been patched up by Gotham General’s staff - and he was doing much better than on that first day. He had been wearing a bulletproof vest under his suit and coat, and it had protected him from Miriam Loeb’s attack, to some extent. Thankfully, she had not thought of aiming for the throat and face, and most of the wounds she had inflicted were minor, on Carmine’s shoulders and arms. But he was an old man. His recovery would take more time than the norm. Still, he did not complain. He did not even wince.

“What are the news, my dear?” he asked her.

“Cipriani is causing trouble. He has been plotting since the news of your presence spread, but he waited until today to come out in the open. He collected quite a few allies.”

She kept her voice detached.

Of course, she was being accused of sleeping with the enemy. It was the easiest shot at her reputation. Cipriani went as far as to say it had been going on for years. Most of her lieutenants were more than ready to believe it.

How easy it had been to undermine everything she had built.

Falcone raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose he is implying we are involved?”

Giulia did not answer. Carmine scoffed.

“Be glad he is using that strategy. It means he can’t find fault with your competence.”

“It hardly matters, does it?”

“Well, I would say his accusations hardly matter. He has proved a traitor, and is trying to have you removed. The way he goes about it is irrelevant, he still has to die.”

Giulia took a deep breath.

“Easier said than done. He was a close friend of Salvatore.”

Falcone tilted his head left.

“All the more reason, then. Salvatore had many friends, and I can safely say none of them are the kind of friends you wish to have.”

She clicked her tongue.

“How strange you and my husband were not closer.”

He smiled. She shook her head and turned away, returning to her thoughts about Cipriani. Having Carmine as an ally was seen as high treason by most of her lieutenants. She had explained that a truce had been necessary to get Penguin out of the picture, and it had been a mistake. Leaders did not justify their actions. It was seen as weakness. She had lost respect, and her executing Cipriani would raise questions. It would not be seen as punishing him, but as silencing him, as if there was some truth to his accusations.

“It looks like you have cold feet, my dear”, her companion commented.

She turned to him and stared him down. It had no effect whatsoever. His smile grew larger. She still did not grace him with an answer.

“Call him in”, he advised. “With all of his friends, with all of your lieutenants. And execute him. Do not comment, do not explain. You are on top, and thus you are right. Let them know that.”

She wanted to snap that she knew all of that, but bit the inside of her cheeks. There was no point arguing with the old man. He, too, felt that he was always right. He quickly understood she would not discuss the subject further, and switched topics.

“Has Gillian been found?”

“Not yet. He hasn’t showed up at this place, and Cobblepot has his daughter, so it is not unlikely that he is helping him. But I would not be so sure of that. Gillian always valued his own life more than anything and anyone. Gabe also says Cobblepot was fond of the woman, so Gillian would not be convinced by threats to harm her.”

They knew the commissioner had been spotted a few hours after his escape from Gotham General - he had ordered a patrolman to surrender his clothes - but that was it. He had left the other cop and vanished. He had not even surfaced after Gilzean’s assault on the GCPD, even if it had cost fifteen lives.

“If she is with Cobblepot, she is still in danger”, Carmine pointed out. “Gillian has not left town. He’ll be trying to get her back.”

“Then we will find him and have a few words.”

Carmine nodded and started to talk, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Cristiano walked in.

“Someone is here to see you, boss”, he said. “Barbara Kean. She just arrived.”

Giulia frowned. Kean had sent her a message through Gabe, a vague offer for a future trade, but nothing had come of it so far. Back then, Giulia had assumed it was about Gertrude Kapelput, but Penguin’s mother was worthless while her son was weakened. Now that he was on the run, Gertrude was once again a valuable bait.

“What’s the situation? How large is her team? Is Gilzean with her?”

“She came alone”, the hitman replied. “Knocked on the door unannounced.”

“Is she insane?”

Of course she was. There was no point asking.

“Will you see her?” Cristiano asked.

Giulia fought the urge to turn to Carmine. She did not need his input. The old man had a way to get under your skin, to make you think he was wiser, smarter, and necessary.

“I will. Have her escorted to my office.”

She let Cristiano leave, without further instructions. They were not needed: he was good at his job. He would know Kean was likely to be carrying several blades, and was to be watched closely. He knew several guards would be necessary. Possibly restraints.

She turned to Falcone.

“Do you want to join me? The discussion might prove entertaining.”

 

***

 

Barbara Kean would have been beautiful if her face had not been covered in bruises. She had covered them with concealer, but there was only so much makeup could do. But she was elegant. She was refined. Her hairdo was perfect, a high bun with hairpins and silky blond bangs. Her hands were manicured. Her white dress - Versace or something of that ilk - was both simple and luxurious. She looked perfectly professional.

Of course, she was a maniac. Gabe’s assessment of her personality had been “nuts as a bag of almonds”. She killed for fun.

She had also come alone, which meant she was certain not to be in danger. And she was right. Gilzean was probably waiting for her, ready to rescue or avenge her. The man had raided the GCPD with heavy weaponry just to make a point. He could have broken her out during her trip to Arkham, or from the asylum itself, but he had chosen the brutal way. He had chosen the numerous casualties and the media exposure. And she, herself, was not above bloody assaults on the homes of her enemies.

“Miss Kean”, Giulia greeted her, taking her seat behind her desk. “I hear you have an offer for me.”

Carmine had elected to follow her, and he joined her, standing behind her chair.

Kean watched him for a moment, then turned to Giulia and smiled politely.

“Mrs. Maroni. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. And yes, I do.”

“I’ll assume it’s about Gertrude Kapelput?”

The blonde’s mouth twitched. She was not losing her smile. She was stopping it from growing larger.

“Indeed. You are a very perceptive woman. I thought you would believe it was about the sculpture.”

“Did you?”

“Absolutely not. You strike me as the one smart crime lord in this town. Lady. Whatever. Oh, no offense, Carmine dear.”

Giulia did not have to turn to Falcone to know his face was neutral. But he had been offended: he did not answer.

“Let’s get to the point”, she said. “What do you want, Miss Kean?”

The woman looked up, to the left, then up, to the right, then to an electric socket on the side of the room.

“Mmmmh.”

Giulia tapped her desk with one nail. It got the blonde’s attention.

“Well, for a start, I could use a cook.”

Everyone stared at her, from the guards to Cristiano to Giulia.

“My mother had me learn to cook”, Kean explained. “Even though she had not entered a kitchen in her life. She insisted it would make me more ladylike. Of course, it was a way to get me out of her sight. I now see it was a ploy to scrape away at my individuality and have me fit the pretty little princess mold, so I refuse to ever cook again.”

It was hard to come up with an answer to that.

“A cook”, Maroni repeated.

Kean beamed.

“Yes!”

She turned to Falcone, and Giulia instantly knew what was coming.

“Since you retired and Ozzie stole your place and everything, I was wondering… What happened to your staff? I remember when I was your hostage, you had that nice housekeeper. Blonde. Sweet. Made muffins. Is she by any chance available?”

She did not bother sounding sincere. She just wanted to rub Liza into Carmine’s face. And it worked. He tensed. You could see the rage on his face.

“I’m afraid she is not”, he replied. “Now, if you have any _reasonable_ request…”

Kean giggled.

“Well, there is something I want, but I might be coming too late. For all I know, she’s at the bottom of Gotham River by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was in love once”, she said. “Well. It must have been love, but it’s over now. It must have been good, but I lost it somehow…”*

Those were song lyrics.

Giulia sighed. But it made some kind of sense.

“Renee Montoya?”

“Yes! I knew you were the smart one. Of course, Renee. She’s the love of my life. Well, she was the love of someone’s life, I’m not sure who I was back then. The drug, see. But I’m fond of her. I want her back. So”, she finished, with a pleading expression and wide, crazy eyes. “Is she alive?”

Giulia _did_ turn to Carmine. She couldn’t help it. He pursed his lips, put a hand on her shoulder, but let her deal with the situation. Maybe he did not lie when he said he intended to remain “retired”.

“She is alive”, Maroni replied, turning to Kean. “I believe we have a deal. Now, how can we go about it without bloodshed? Not that I don’t trust you, of course.”

Kean started laughing.

 

###

 

There was not much to feel happy about in the basement, but Scottie had years of training counseling others, and she could counsel herself. She was terrified, she missed her family, she missed Harvey, but she could see the silver lining.

David was getting better. That was the one good thing. She had spent a few days sleeping on his sofa now, and she had seen his mood improve from day to day. She tried to cheer him up. There was not much that could be done, obviously. She was no trauma counselor, and David had seen the woman he was… Paired with get blown up. More than that, he had been right next to her. He would have scars for the rest of his life, and every mirror in his house had been - unsurprisingly - broken and bloody. Scottie had removed them and thrown them away.

Now, she kept David busy with card games, chess games, friendly chats, and everything that was not The Wedding Singer.

It worked. He had stopped scratching his scars. He smiled most of the day. He grew more talkative. He opened up about himself.

“I didn’t actually want to be a banker. I wanted to be a guitarist”, he revealed over their morning cocoa. “I was in a cover band. We specialized in everything by The Kinks and The Animals.”

“That sounds nice. Why didn’t you continue on that path? Parents?”

“Ah, no, my parents were fine with it. But, to keep it short, the band sucked. I sucked.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, we were that bad. That’s probably why my parents were fine with it.”

Scottie chuckled. David smiled and picked his empty bowl up, going to wash it. He peeked outside once he was done, to look at the Screen and get his daily instructions.

“You have a date with Jim”, he announced.

That was not a surprise. They had one every evening. And it was scarier and scarier, because they were steadily moving towards the bedroom, day by day. There had been more kisses, that had left Jim looking nauseated. They had all feared he could not stay in character. Sophie and David, especially, kept observing him and frowning at his every reaction. But James did his best, and he had been allowed upstairs for a chat with Mrs. Valentine, to ask for “tips”.

If he had gotten tips, he had not shared them, and his behavior had not changed.

Scottie would have killed for answers, but questioning him could have gotten her killed. She had not even tried. She still woke up in cold sweats thinking about the bit of hair and flesh she had found in her bedroom.

“I… That’s great!” she said with a fake smile.

David crossed the room and sat next to her, taking her hand under the table.

“It looks like it’s going well between the two of you”, he said.

“Yes, I think so.”

He could probably feel her hand shaking.

“Y-O-U C-A-N D-E-L-A-Y F-O-R A F-E-W D-A-Y-S M-O-R-E”, he wrote in her palm.

“I hope he won’t mess up. He seems a bit unused the whole dating thing”, he said.

“I T-R-Y”, she wrote back, munching on a waffle.

“He is”, she replied after swallowing.

She smiled.

“W-E W-I-L-L B-E F-O-U-N-D”, she spelled.

David shook his head and smiled, cynical and sad.

“No.”

Scottie stared at him.

David looked down at her hand.

“N-A-T-E O-N-L-Y 1 W-H-O C-A-N G-E-T U-S O-U-T.”

The redhead swallowed, a chill running down her spine.

Seeing the silver lining was one thing, but there was only so much you could do to stay positive, and silver linings were often threadbare.

 

###☺


	41. Chapter 41

Butch couldn’t quite read Barbara. He still could not, even when she was naked in his arms, in bed, all his. Well, “all his”, it was relative. He knew sex was her way to keep him by her side. That she thought it was a necessary transaction stunned him, but then again she had no self-esteem. She might have been strong, but she still believed she was worth no more than a pretty doll. She did not care.

Well, if she did not care, neither did he. As far as he could tell, they were both having fun. There was a good reason “don’t stick your dick in crazy” was a rule to live by, however. It was like sticking your dick into anyone: if you did it on a repeated basis, you grew attached. Butch was not in love, of course. You could not love someone that far gone. But he felt a sort of fondness. He cared. When he saw the scars Lennon had left - scars that were not on her skin, but in her mind, and just as bad as the ones Zsasz has given him - he grew angry.

A part of him wished she could feel. Not love, of course. That would have been a mess. But feel, in the general sense, something. She had malice and rage in spades, but she could do without that. There was a whole spectrum of emotions that could not reach her anymore, and that would have made her a little more human. She flirted with him, and she cooed over kittens, and she wept over sad movies, but it was all pretend. If you distracted her, she instantly returned to her detached, curious self.

Sometimes, though, he had a suspicion there was something left of her. Not when she was playing with guns or plotting or watching reality shows or laughing. But sometimes, like when she lay naked against him, quiet, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. That was when he felt like she kept something in.

Oh, she was insane. Far gone. But he could go to that place too. He loved it. You felt no pain, you felt no fear, everything was hilarious. It was elating. But he was able to come back. The madness was like a cloak he could wrap around himself, and take off at will. He was still there, underneath. He wondered if Barbara was hiding behind her own walls. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

He knew how to reach out, but he was not a tender man, and softness would have gotten him killed anyway. It was still tempting. He let his hand wander on her belly.

“Deep thoughts?”

She blinked and looked down at his hand, frowning, as she always did when his caresses were too nice. He stilled. She turned to him.

“Just thinking.”

“I can see that. What about?”

“Renee.”

“Ah.”

They had exchanged Gertrude for the cop the previous day. Montoya’s reunion with Barbara had not gone well. There had been screaming, there had been pleading, there had been tears. And the detective had tried to convince Barb’ that she could be _helped_. It was the very last thing Barbara had wanted to hear. She was strong and unbreakable and happy (as far as she could be). From her perspective, she did not need to be _fixed_.

Montoya had survived, but she owed it all to her training and to her fighting skills.

Butch had seen her an hour later, after she had met and talked to every facet of Barbara’s personality. Tough as nails cops did not cry, but they could look overly neutral and pinch the bridge of their nose very often. He had chuckled.

“It _amuses_ you to see her like that?” Montoya had yelled.

“No. It amuses me to see _you_ like that.”

“You son of a bitch. Why is she even working with you? You held her hostage. You threatened to rape her, you sick bastard!”

He had shrugged.

“She needed a henchman and I was available. She has tons of ideas and a distinct lack of criminal knowledge, so I’m useful to her. I’m glad to help, too.”

“Help.”

He had shrugged.

“ _Help_ ", Montoya had replied. "By letting her be _that_? It’s not the person she’s supposed to be! She’s not herself anymore, she’s just hurt and traumatized and lashing out!”

“And you are a dreamer and a fool. Now, are you going to keep pissing me off or do I have to shoot you?”

She had kept pissing him off, so she had been escorted to her cell, rather forcefully, but without gunshot wounds. Barb’ would have reacted poorly to her new toy being damaged.

He pulled Barbara closer.

“She’ll come around”, he lied, just like he had lied to Fish for a decade every time he had been in a position to make a problem disappear before it could hurt her.

But Fish tended to be overconfident. Barbara did not share that trait. She was a pessimist. When she took insane risks, she did not believe she would prevail against all odds. She just did not care about dying.

“She won’t.”

Butch froze. Barbara was still staring at the ceiling, but her eyes had gone wet. She felt it and rolled away

“So, so _what_?”* she exclaimed, bouncing out of bed. “I’m still a rock star, I got my rock moves, and I don’t need her!”*

He sat up and stared.

“And _guess what?_ ”, his lover added with a mean smile. “I’m having more fun now that we’re done. I’m gonna show her tonight. I’m _alright_ , I’m just _fine_ , and SHE’S A TOOL!”*

By that point, she was panting and trembling with rage. Butch swallowed.

“Boss…”

She glared at him.

The phone rang. He sighed and got out of bed to pick up.

His mind went blank when the caller started talking. News. Good news. Stunning news that got his stomach to twitch in terrified anticipation.

“That’s the look, that’s the look, the look of love”, Barbara sang, observing him.

“Set an appointment. As soon as possible”, Butch told his interlocutor.

There was more talking, and he gave a few short answers. Then he hung up and turned to his partner.

“Doctor Francis Dulmacher wants to meet with you”, he announced. “He says he is the best plastic surgeon the continent has to offer.”

The blonde smiled and replied, but Butch did not quite listen. All he could think about was Fish, Fish, Fish. Or, at least, closure.

 

###

 

“And so you just arrested him?” Sophie asked.

Jim nodded.

“No chase, no nothing?”

“No chase, no nothing.”

She sighed.

“You’re an awful story teller.”

“Yeah, my partner is the chatty one. I’m not overly original. Sorry about that.”

Sophie smiled.

“It will do. More coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He watched her refill their cups, and smiled. He liked Sophie. She was about as gentle as a razor blade, and defaulted to passive-aggression, but she was good company. With Scottie spending most of her time with David, and Nate vanishing as far from Jim as he could, Sophie was the only person he could talk to, and the cop enjoyed their talks. She loved to question him about the cases he had worked on. As it turned out, she was a fan of crime procedurals, and she had missed every season of the shows she followed before her abduction. He had not had the heart to tell her that Without a Trace had been canceled.

He had been observing her, quite a lot. She was cold, and he was fairly certain she loathed Shawn. The little boy had no idea. She appeared to be the perfect mother. Jim was unclear on her feelings for Nate, but they were lukewarm at best.

Crowne would have picked up on that. Not the boy being disliked, of course, but Nate’s so-called marriage growing cold would not have escaped her notice.

Jim had taken note of that.

“When is your date?” Sophie asked. “I’m not working tonight.”

“No. It’s a picnic. In… Thirty minutes, actually. I should probably get ready.”

“So, what base have you reached? You’ve had a lot of dates.”

The cop’s stomach lurched.

“Second.”

Sophie noticed his unease and gave him a pointed glance. He tensed. He knew he could have it much worse. Scottie and him had done their best to delay the inevitable trip to her bedroom. He knew Crowne would not wait forever.

His talk with the lunatic, a few days before, had been surprising. He had a lot more leeway than he thought. “You are the tight-laced gentleman”, the old crone had told him. “It’s Scottie’s job to seduce you”. Of course, Scottie was not trying her best. She did the bare minimum to remain convincing, but she was horrified and disgusted. They both were. He had a plan about that.

He stood.

“I should get going”, he told Sophie. “I have to get ready.”

He didn’t bother waiting for her answer. He just left, and walked straight to his home.

Half an hour later, he was sitting on Scottie’s lawn, next to a basket full of food, and exchanged sweet nothings with the redhead. There was kissing when the Screen ordered it. Hand holding. More kissing.

Minutes went by. Hours. Jim had started out worried, and his anxiety was growing. He had a plan, but it would get them all killed. That being said, he had no other way to delay the inevitable, and he was not about to rape someone.

They put the food away and talked some more. Then, the screen gave them the order. “Go back inside. Stay for coffee and more.”

Jim closed his eyes and breathed in. He heard Scottie’s breath quicken. He looked at her. She had paled, and was chewing through her lower lip. He turned to the street. Sophie was at her window. David was sitting on his porch, not so subtly observing them.

 _I_ _’m sorry if I get us all killed_ , the blond thought.

“No”, he said.

Scottie’s eyes went wide.

Jim sighed.

“No. It wouldn’t be right”, he explained, as his necklace started beeping. “I’ve led you on, but… I don’t see any future between us. I’m sorry.”

The beeps grew closer, until they were nearly continuous. The good news was that only one necklace was beeping, and it was Jim’s.

“You… Led me on?” Scottie replied, lost.

“I thought it could work. But… I have feelings for someone else”, he announced, turning ever so slightly to Sophie.

He did not look at her, but he knew every camera around was filming the motion, and that Crowne would understand the intent. That was the plan. Nate and Sophie’s loveless “marriage”, a newcomer, a love triangle, and drama. It was a plot, and Jim had watched every romantic movie available in his house. Most of their scenarios were not as dramatic.

The beeping stopped.

Scottie stared at him, terrified and lost, but grew quieter as understanding dawned.

The pairs had been reassigned and she was not dead.

If Jim understood Valentine well, she was already making plans about Scottie and David.

It bought them time.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barbara's songs:  
> \- P!nk, So What?  
> \- ABC, The Look Of love.


	42. Chapter 42

Butch could barely contain himself. Then again, he had spent fifteen year by Fish’s side, so he was used to being barely able to contain himself, and quietly, at that. He was counting the minutes until Barbara’s appointment with Dulmacher, but he thought he did alright with the poker face. The waiting was still killing him. Barb’ was to be picked up at ten in the morning - a whole four hours wait - and her estimated time of arrival at the clinic was around noon.

He had not slept. He had stared at the ceiling and hoped, and endured Barbara’s squirming. He understood better why he found it difficult to sleep soundly when they shared a bed. She would be still for an hour, then twist and turn and kick, and reposition herself. She curled up into a ball. She cuddled. She rolled away. She spread all over the mattress. In short, her sleep was as messed up as the rest of her. He did not quite mind. If he had, he would have wrapped himself around her to keep her still. Or he would have found himself another bed. The way she slept wouldn’t matter for much longer, anyway. When they found Fish, the whole fuck buddies thing would be over.

He made no plans for the eventuality of them not finding Fish.

Barbara had woken around seven o’clock, pretended to sleep for half an hour more, and was now watching cartoons.

“Helloooo nurse!” she exclaimed along with the dog-monkey-cat-something characters.

Butch lifted his eyebrows.

“I need a nurse outfit”, the blonde said, falling back onto the mattress and snuggling against him.

She went for fondling, but he did not feel quite in the mood. Not with a possibility that Fish was alive. He pretended to watch the cartoon and ignored Barbara’s wandering hands until they stilled.

“Now, boss”, he said when the episode ended. “Before we rescue Fish, I have to ask…”

“Yes?”

“You are _not_ going to shoot her in the face or otherwise murder her, are you?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Now, why would I do that?”

He gave her a pointed look.

“When do you ever need a reason to kill someone?”

“ _Alright, alright!_ I won’t kill her for no reason!”

Butch smiled.

“Thank you.”

“But if I don’t like her shoes, say your goodbyes.”

He gaped for a moment.

“We are going to have to make a list of acceptable reasons to murder someone.”

 

###

 

Harvey was sitting in his cell, on the mattress that was his only piece of “furniture”, and stared at the floor. He had been doing that for quite a few days. He had a lot to contemplate: his failure to even suspect who Scottie and Jim’s abductor was, his entire life, and getting half of his unit killed because he’d been stupid enough to pull a Jim. It was Dix all over again, but with a body count in the two digits. He knew there was a good reason not to be a hero in Gotham. He knew there were consequences. And he had forgotten. He could have let Kean go, or he could have bashed her skull in instead of arresting her, but no. He had played by the fucking rules, and of course people had died.

Yeah, a lot to contemplate. He did not bother talking to the guard Gilzean had placed at the door to ensure Selina Kyle would not rescue him again. Hell, he did not even talk to Gilzean, who had tried to have a few conversations.

His next visitor was unexpected, though.

“Montoya?” he said when the MCU detective entered the room, much to his surprise.

“Bullock. We don’t have much time. Are you alright?”

For a second, he thought it was a rescue. But no. The guard was still there, in perfect health.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was Falcone’s prisoner. Barbara traded me for Cobblepot’s mother. It’s a long story”, she added, noticing his confusion at the mention of Falcone. “Just listen. We have twenty minutes, then I’m going to be escorted out.”

“ _I am_ listening.”

“She wants me to find Gordon. Says she will kill you if I don’t track him down in a week or less. So I need you to tell me _everything_ you know about his disappearance.”

 

###

 

Barbara looked at Francis Dulmacher and smiled softly.

She knew the men of his ilk. He was proud. He was arrogant. He was overconfident. You could see it in him and in the place, in his office, in the shelves full of books he had never opened. Men like that were easy to deal with. They already thought they outsmarted you at every turn. It took very little to convince them they were right. And they loved, loved, loooved when you were weak and vulnerable and terrified (of course, faking terror was useless during an appointment about facial surgery, but Barbara could do trusting and slightly anxious). She kept her eyes ever so slightly too wide. She fidgeted, just a little.

“It is my understanding that you want a new face”, the surgeon said, handing her a heavy binder with a leather cover. “I propose you look through pictures of my work while you tell me exactly the kind of alterations you expect.”

She took the binder, thanking him, and opened it, turning the pages slowly. All of the pictures were impressive. Some were of basic plastic surgeries: nose jobs, boob jobs, liftings, and so on. Other were full face transplants.

“It’s… Very impressive”, she commented.

“Are you looking for a complete transformation?” the Dollmaker asked. “As you can see, nothing is out of your reach.”

“I, I, ah. I don’t know. I want not to be recognizable. It’s the whole point, isn’t it? But… I still want to be… Me. Does that make sense?”

“It does. Most of my patients share that sentiment.”

Barbara smiled, hesitant.

“I’d like, you know, to remove all the bad and ugly, and to keep what I like about myself.”

“Very well. What would you change?”

“It’s silly… People say I’m _pretty_ , you know?”

Dulmacher waited.

“But _everything with me is wrong_ ”, Barbara continued. He was eating it up. Time for some family tales. “My mother kept saying my mouth was too thin and it made me look like I had swallowed lemons. Also, she thought my chin was too pointy. And protruded too much. And she did not really like my teeth either. Too big. I look like a horse. You know?” - She took a shaky breath. - “And the papers said I had a resting bitch face, so if we could do something for my eyebrows and the shape of my jaw, it would be soooo nice. And my eyes are too small. Also, I look like an old bag. I need a lifting”

Dollmaker was taking notes.

“Those changes are fairly generalized. We will be working with photographs to assemble a look that pleases you, then sculptures. Is there any trait you wish to keep?”

She stared at him, eyes getting wet. She was not faking those tears, she had no idea from which dark pit they had escaped, and would have fought to swallow them back. But vulnerability served her well in this situation. She had to kill all of the time it would take to Butch to track down her GPS signal and to send their team to the island.

“It’s silly. My hair. I like my hair. It’s my one good thing, see? Even my mother found no fault with it.”

Francis looked nonplussed.

“Very well. Let us look at some photographs. I believe I have some suggestions you will like.”

Barbara smiled again.

“Let’s.”

 

###

 

Jim smiled to Sophie during their entire date at the restaurant. It was his best grin. The apologetic one. The one reserved for Harvey after Jim had gotten them in a shooting situation or had spilled both of their coffees. She smiled a “I look nice now but I will kill you later” smile in return.

He liked that woman. She would probably strangle him if given the opportunity, but he liked her.

The two of them gave a much better show than he and Scottie had ever given. It kind of messed with his mind. He was not sure where the feigned attraction stopped and where the actual interest started. He hoped there was no real interest from his side. He genuinely could not tell.

He needed out of that basement.

They talked of movies and shows Jim had never seen, of books he had not read, of places he had not visited. He talked about Syraq, of the three nice and peaceful days he had gotten during his much longer deployment. Then they talked of the food, that Scottie had prepared, as she had been assigned the role of cook and waitress.

Then they left the restaurant and hid behind a hedge, because it was an affair and Nate could not catch them. They held hands.

“Y-O-U-W-I-L-L-P-A-Y-F-O-R-T-H-I-S”, she wrote in his palm as they gazed at each other with… Well, Jim hoped it looked like desire. He was trying.

The screen told them to kiss.

Jim tensed. Sophie did not even hesitate and pulled him close, kissing him hard, and biting him as soon as he opened his lips.

 _Well deserved, I guess_.

He wrapped his arms around her. Her hands roamed all over his back, pulling his shirt out of his pants and slipping under the fabric to touch his skin. He froze and nearly pulled back. But this was the whole point. Sophie could take it. She was tough.

Her hands found a scar, that bullet wound scar on his abdomen, courtesy of Zsasz. She dug her nails into it.

_Well deserved._

 

###

 

Butch got out of the helicopter and joined his team. The courtyard was secured. Apparently, Dollmaker had a good security force, but it had not expected gunfire from above. Butch’s men had killed a dozen men without even landing. The rest of the sentries had taken cover, so the landing itself had been a bit more problematic. Then again, once on the ground, the rocket launchers came into play.

“Good job, boys”, he told his team. “Now, let’s see how the boss is doing!”

There were guards inside too. Dollmaker’s reinforcements had run in from behind the building, but there had been no way to stop them. Landing on that side of the island was impossible. Butch did not bother securing the entire place. He got his men to free a path to Dulmacher’s office, and to defend the way. They could lead a full blown assault on the mansion once the psychopath was secured. As long as no one knew they were after Fish, the Dollmaker would not single her out among his prisoners. There was no reason for him to user her as a bargaining chip.

 _Fish_.

Butch had to take a deep breath in front of the office. He let one of his guys open the door and check for hostiles. There were none. Gilzean entered the room, and chuckled. Barbara was sitting on the back of a very bloody - but not lethally injured - old man in a white doctor coat. She had a blade to his throat, and was tracing his wrinkles with the tip of another.

How people did not figure out her gigantic hairpins were daggers, he had no idea.

She grinned to him.

“Has he told you anything?”, Butch asked.

“Not yet, but he called me names.”

“I’ll have a word with him on how to talk to ladies”, he replied.

“Do we have control of the place?”

“Not yet.”

“Well then I want to go out and play”, she said, reaching for his gun.

He clicked his tongue.

“Put this on first”, he told her, getting a bulletproof vest out of his bag.

She obeyed, so he gave her a gun too.

“Go and have fun. And don’t kill Fish if you find her. You promised.”

Dulmacher froze at the name. Butch’s eyes narrowed.

“Cross my heart and hope to die!” Barbara recited as she ran to the door.

He watched her go, then turned to his men, and had them tie the doctor to his chair. The old man set his jaw and glared, furious, and attempting to keep some control of the situation.

“What do you want?”, he snapped.

“Fish Mooney”, Butch replied. “Preferably alive. I’d suggest you tell me where she is, right now.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Strange, because she told me all about this place last time I saw her.”

That got the surgeon to tense. He lifted his chin.

“I have not heard of her since her daring escape”, he lied.

Butch sighed. Some people just did not know what was best for their safety. He stared at the old man.

“You’re the best plastic surgeon the continent had to offer, right?”

Dulmacher blinked, confused for an instant before understanding and terror dawned. Butch shot his right hand, right above the wrist where he could break the most bones, and grinned as his prisoner screamed.

“Well”, the mobster commented, “you still have a bright future as the best general practitioner the continent has to offer. Wanna start talking or do you want that future to be all disability benefits and phantom pain?”

 

###


	43. Chapter 43

Butch took a deep, shaky breath.

Dead, trying to escape. Dead, alright. That could be a lie.

“How?” he asked to Dulmacher, whose right arm was now a bleeding mess.

“She tried t-to sneak out at night”, the doctor replied, panting. “She stole a bowrider. It was at night, the boat flipped. We could not find the body, but there is no way she could have swam back to the island. Not with waters that cold.”

Butch let the news wash over him.

He had wanted closure. Well. They _did_ say to be careful what you wished for. He couldn’t cope. Not again. Not after allowing himself to hope, _again_.

He started laughing.

 

###

 

Barbara hopped from bedroom to bedroom, followed by a nervous Willy who was definitely more interested in both their survivals than she was. That was okay. He handled the boring safety duties, and she handled the slaughtering of random strangers. They made a good team. He had good reflexes and he could aim (she was still working on that), so he did a better job than her gunning down Dollmaker's guards.

Barbara just walked into each bedroom and killed people. It was more up her alley.

“Hello”, she gently told a terrified old woman with bandages all over the chest, who was hiding under her bed. “Are you a patient here? I’m with the FBI, this is a rescue operation.”

The lady breathed in in relief.

“Yes. Yes, I am. What is happening out there?”

Barbara shot her in the face.

The good thing with raiding an illegal clinic catering to the criminal underworld, that harvested organs from kidnapping victims, was that you didn’t have to worry about murdering innocents. As far as she knew, the innocent people were in a jail in the basement. So _maybe_ the odd civilian ended up on the wrong side of her gun. What- _ever_. Her overall ratio was fairly good.

“Pom, pom, pom, another one bites the dust”*, she told Willy, grinning.

He sighed. Her grin grew larger and she went to peek the next bedroom, where two people were hiding behind an upturned table.

“Out of the doorway the bullets rip, repeating the sound of the beat!”*, she sang, emptying a magazine in the general direction of the patients.

She was not about to run out of ammo. They had collected a bucketful of weapons from the mercenaries they had killed. And if she _did_ run out of bullets, she had knives.

“And another one gone, and another one gone”, she murmured, skipping to the next room and firing at random. “Woohoo! Another one bites the dust!”*

“Boss, please”, Willy moaned.

She beamed at him and bounced to the closest door. She was nearly done with the floor. What a shame.

“Pom, pom, pom” - Gunshot. - “another one bites the dust! Pom.” - Step. - “Pom.” - Step. - “Pom.” - Much larger step because the corridor was larger than Barbara had thought, then gunshot. - “Another one bites the dust!”*

Her henchman looked as if he was suffering from a severe headache. She figured it was the gunshots. They were pretty deafening.

She tried to barge into the next room. The door resisted, so she had Willy push it open, along with whatever was keeping it closed. Then, she pointed her Glock at the first person she saw.

“Hey! I’m gonna get you t-… _Liza?_ ”*

 

###

 

Fish had no idea what was happening. Faking her own death had made it easier for her to move around. She knew the patrol routes by heart, and she could easily slip by, to collect food and drinks from the patients’ rooms. She could only do so at night, however, and she knew very little of Dulmacher’s activities, save for what she could read in his files when she broke into his office, every few days. So, when three helicopters had landed and a militia had attacked the island, she had not been able to figure out who the assailants were.

She had been upstairs when the raid had started, on her way to bring some supplies back to her nest in the attic. She had seen the helicopters arrive from the window, as well as the slaughter that had followed. It was no police operation (even if the first mercenaries who had entered the manor had shouted “FBI”). She assumed one of the patients was high profile, and had been located by powerful enemies.

In other circumstances, she would have run to the basement to join the prisoners. There was someone else to protect, however, so she had raced to Calvin’s bedroom. The boy had been hiding in a closet when she had arrived. She had told him to stay there, and covered him with well folded covers and clothes. If he did not move, he would not be detected by a quick scan. No one would expect to find a child in the hospital, and the closet was too small for an adult.

She had tried to lock the door, but there was no key, and nothing to block it with. You couldn’t push a chair under a doorknob that did not exist, and there was no heavy furniture to push in front of it. Fish had tried to move the bed, only to find out you the damn thing easily slid over the tile, even when its wheels were blocked.

She had spent half an hour sitting next to the cupboard, whispering comforting lies to Calvin, and waited. The boy could hear the gunshots just as well as she could, however, so there was no point pretending. As far as Fish could tell, a woman was going from door to door and killing every patient. You could hear her sing-song voice and her laughter.

When the door was finally pushed open, Fish was standing, gun at the ready, prepared to shoot first. She hesitated for a split second when she recognized the blonde in front of her. Well, “recognized” was a strong word. Her face was familiar. Fish had seen her before. She knew she knew her name, but she could not place it. Her hesitation was enough for the woman to stop and stare at her.

“ _Liza_?” she exclaimed, lowering her gun.

Fish racked her brains for her _name._ It had something to do with Carmine. It had something to do with Harvey and Gordon. It came back to her. She had only seen the woman in photographs, and she had been less disheveled, more composed.

“You are Barbara Kean”, Fish said.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead! Strangled by Carmine. With his bare hands.”

Explaining the whole skin grafts, bone reshaping, identity erasing business was going sound preposterous at best.

“It’s a long story. I’m a donor here, one of the abductees”, Fish replied. “What are _you_ doing here? What is happening?”

Kean looked her up and down, inspecting her dirty nurse clothes, nearly black with dust in places. She tilted her head, and seemed to accept the explanation.

“Me and my partner are on a rescue mission. We’re looking for one of his friends. _OH!_ I’m silly! You would _know_ her! You worked for her, after all. Have you seen Fish Mooney around?”

Fish’s first reaction was relief. She had not expected help. Then she grew suspicious. She did not have many friends left, but she had enemies in spades. For all she knew, Kean was working with Penguin.

“Who is your partner?”

“Butch. You know Butch, right?”

It could still be a trap.

“I know where she went”, Fish said. “I’ll tell him. But, first… What are you going to do with the prisoners?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The people in the basement. The organ donors.”

Kean shrugged.

“Butch said we’d drop them somewhere on the coast, around Gotham.”

Fish nodded and opened the cupboard.

“You can come out, Calvin.”

The boy squirmed out of under the covers, cautious, and cast a wary look at Kean and her bodyguard.

“Hiiiii! What are you doing here, sweetie?” the blonde exclaimed, hopping closer.

Calvin clenched his jaw. Barbara frowned, studying his face.

“You’re Calvin Winston, aren’t you?”

Fish put a hand on the child’s shoulder.

“He is.”

“Well, I have it on good authority his mom is waiting for him in Gotham. It’s all over the news!”

Calvin lit up.

“Really?”

Barbara nodded, with a sweetness that was only skin deep. Fish had seen insanity up close before. It was easy to spot. She pulled the boy closer.

“Can we see Butch, now? I have a lot to tell him.”

Kean looked up, thinking about it, until she heard a gunshot.

“I’m not sure the place is safe yet. Willy? Can you go check?”

 

###

 

Getting one’s hand on a saw and scalpels was not overly difficult in an illegal clinic. Once the tools had been procured, administering a bit of poetic justice to Francis Dulmacher had proved exhilarating. And that had been before the boys had found his experiments. One of his men had walked into the doctor’s office, turned green, looked away, and cleared his throat.

“Boss, there’s something you have to see.”

Butch had looked up from his new toy and raised an eyebrow.

“You really have to see it”, his man had added.

Gilzean had requested a wheelchair for Francis, who needed one. Francis was a man who liked to remove bits and parts from other people, so removing bits and parts of him was fitting. And hilarious.

Victor had been right. “Alive” did in no way mean healthy, and a man did not need all his appendages to belong to the world of the living.

Butch had followed his man to the room he “had to see for himself”, merrily dragging the wheelchair and Francis along. He couldn’t just push it, what with the trail of blood the surgeon was leaving on their way. The guy wouldn’t last long, even if Butch had limited his hemorrhaging with tourniquets.

“Oh, _wow_ ”, he had blurted out when they had entered the room. “I mean, _wow,_ Francis. I had no idea you were that creative.”

There were twelve experiments on twelve hospital beds, six on each side of the room. A few of those “patients” had been unconscious, or on life support. The rest had been awake, and begging to die. Gilzean had been very impressed. You couldn’t tell if the poor victims were practice or play, but Dulmacher had sure been inventive. It was not the kind of work he could have advertised, either: gender-bending, race-bending, body parts switching (between the articulations of one patient), body parts switching (between patients), random grafts, amputations…

Butch had grinned and patted the Dollmaker’s shoulder, because the discovery opened a whole new world of poetic justice possibilities.

“So, boss, uh, what do we do with the, uh, people?”, Butch’s men had asked.

“What do you mean, what do we do? They’re begging to die. Give the pour souls what they want! Do I have to do everything myself?”

“But… I mean, what if they don’t really want…”

“Ask them nicely if they are sure?”

It had taken a few moments to finish off the patients, who had for the most part been grateful. Then Butch had been left alone with his partially dismembered friend Francis, and a whole lot of bodies to collect parts from. Now, he wasn’t a big shot surgeon, but he could do great things with a needle, skin glue, and staples.

He was still playing with his moaning, sobbing, real-life Mister Potato Head when Barbara arrived.

“Looks like someone is having fun”, she commented, leaning against the door frame.

He dropped a hand and turned to her, grinning.

“Well, you know, just giving the man a taste of his own medeci-”

He froze, because Barb’ was not alone. _Liza_ was standing next to her. Which made no sense, he had seen her die. Actually seen her die, not just fall into a river with no tangible proof of death. He stared at the young blonde. It was her. Nearly her, anyway. She was thinner and paler, but the lips were the same, and the features, and the hair, and… But not her eyes. The eyes were mismatched.

She was watching him with a sort of stunned surprise, but shook herself out of it.

She clicked her tongue.

“Now, if you were going to do _this_ ”, she said, pointing at Dulmacher, “you could have waited for me.”

Alright. Maybe he had gone insane. If he wasn’t already insane. But he sure has hell had gone psychotic. But that _voice_ …

Barbara frowned, looking at the other woman.

“She said she knew where your girlfriend had gone.”

Not-Liza shot her a side-glance.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Butch’s mouth went dry. He swallowed, painfully. He wiped his forehead with a bloody hand, spreading gore all over his face and not caring.

He was hallucinating. Had to be.

“Show me who you are”, he forced out of his clenched throat. “Prove it.”

She smiled, and it was nothing like Liza’s practiced angel smiles, or the empty twist of the lips she sometimes pasted on her face, before Fish had cleaned her up and made her her doll. No. This smile was predatory and mocking and confident.

The woman walked to him and adjusted his tie.

“But I swear, Butch”, she murmured. She raised her voice to repeat herself. “But I swear, on my sainted mother’s grave, some day soon, I am going to kill that old man with my bare hand and teeth.”

She raised a hand, tracing a faint scar on the side of her index with her thumb. The thin line ran all along her whole hand, all of its fingers, and her wrist, disappearing under her sleeve. If you looked closely, there were similar scars on her face, and the skin of her neck wasn’t quite the same color as her head’s.

_Some day soon._

He swallowed again, and felt his eyes tear up.

“I-”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I, I-I… Oh _god_ ”, he said. “I’ll be holding your shoes.”

“That’s about right”, Fish replied.

He grabbed her, as if she had still be falling from that roof, as if she had been about to disappear, and he kissed her. And kissed her again. And again. Until she patted his shoulder and moved back. She did not get out of his arms (not that he would have let her), and she looked at him with a fond, teasing smile. A few moments went by, and all Butch could do was caress her face and smooth her hair.

The, Barbara reminded them of her presence.

“Okay. Hold on. I hate to interrupt but I’m confused. Weren’t we looking for a tiny black chick?”

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I really need to credit Another one bites the dust?


	44. Chapter 44

Scottie understood Jim’s plan. They had not been able to discuss it: he was kept busy with constant instructions about his new courtship. But the intent was clear: he had pushed Mrs. Valentine to reorganize the pairs. Scottie had watched him interact with Sophie, and they clearly made for a more compelling romance. They had… Not chemistry, but an equal coldness and sense of focus that made them well matched. The brunette was a veteran of this game. She could no longer be hurt, she just got angry. Clearly, Jim was more comfortable with that dynamic, and played a much better seducer.

Now, the question was… What were Valentine’s intentions about Scottie herself? The redhead had expected to be sent on dates with David, but had received no instructions. She kept checking the screen, but Mrs. Valentine seemed to focus on the new love triangle, sending Nate on errands so Jim and Sophie would have time alone. David had not been called upstairs, so he had not be briefed directly, and Scottie had not seen him talk to the others either.

She had a horrible suspicion about what was in store for them.

She did her best to corner Nate, who was very elusive for a man trapped in an oversized basement. She had no idea where he was hiding. She suspected he had the keys to one of the empty houses and locked himself in to be left alone. He spent a lot of time with Shawn, obviously, so waiting for the two of them to play outside proved the easiest way to get to Nate.

Of course, they had to be playing in the pool. Scottie froze thirty feet away and watched Shawn float around in a donut printed swim ring, while his father did laps. Nate saw her. He ignored her. He knew she was afraid of the pool. She had _told_ him. She swallowed down the urge to run away, and waited. It took an eternity, but Nate got out of the water, pulling Shawn out and drying him up.

“Run off to Sophie, will you?” he told the boy, who trotted away.

Scottie took a deep breath, unable to take a step forward. Her fellow prisoner dried himself and joined her, as slowly as he could.

“Wanted to talk to me?” he asked.

She looked him up and down. It was a reflex, and a rude one, but she couldn’t catch herself in time. You tended to forget, because his face was sullen or blank most of the time, and because his posture was unflattering unless he felt Mrs. Valentine was observing him, but he was a handsome man. That was why he had been picked. Even after seven years trapped, he had not let himself go.

“Enjoyed your swim?” she replied.

“Yes. Shawn has his fun and, at my age, staying fit is better for my _health._ ”

There was a small emphasis to imply that health meant survival. Scottie shuddered.

“I did want to talk to you. About David.”

“Just let me dress myself”, Nate said.

He went to retrieve his clothes, and they walked down the lane, as far away from the pool as possible.

“So, David?”, the blond asked, sitting on a bench on the lawn of the last house.

Scottie sat next to him.

“I was wondering if you think he might, you know, be interested in me. Romantically.”

It meant “ _Does the crazy woman plan to have him seduce me?_ ”.

Nate raised his eyebrows.

Scottie took his hand and wrote in his palm.

“I-S-S-H-E-B-R-I-N-G-I-N-G-N-E-W-P-E-O-P-L-E.”

The blond would know that. He was - albeit unwillingly - their jailer’s right-hand man.

“I think he’s fond of you”, Nate replied. “But he has been through a lot. His previous break-up was hard on him. He shouldn’t be pushed right now. If he grows close to you, it would have to be… Organic.”

 _Hence the absence of instructions._ No one would be kidnapped to become her new match, then. It was David. Mrs. Valentine would just let it happen.

And Scottie would just let it happen too, because David was a hair’s breadth away from hanging himself, even if he seemed to be doing better. He could not take another loss.

“Thank you, Nate. That’s just what I wanted to know.”

 

###

 

Fish was worried about Butch. She was more than worried: she was scared.

He was different. She had been horrified when they had been reunited, in Falcone’s safe house, after he had spent weeks at the hands of Zsasz. He had been broken back then, confused, fighting the conditioning that had been tortured into him, but he had been _Butch_.

Now… He had gotten over the conditioning. He was in control of himself. That himself, however, was not entirely the person who had spent a decade by Fish’s side. He was more confident, and scarier.

When she had been led to Dulmacher’s private laboratory, after leaving Calvin in the room where the freed prisoners had been gathered, Fish had stopped dead in her tracks and nearly vomited. It had not been because of the corpses, she had barely noticed them. It had not been because of Dulmacher, who had been lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, with body parts that did not belong to him glued, taped or stapled to the stumps of his arms and legs. No. Fish was not easily impressed by gore. She scripted the executions of her enemies and had them filmed. It wasn’t the violence and the bloodshed that had sickened her. It was that it was all Butch’s doing.

It was new. It had not been in him before. Fish was the crazy one. Butch was simpler in his kills, more old fashioned. Unless ordered otherwise, he favored the quick and painless “bullet to the head” method. He could get fancy on the terrain, and add some fun and creativity to his missions, but that was it. He had murdered, he had beaten up some enemies, he had stolen, he had lied… But torture and dismemberment had never been his cup of tea. Seeing him play with body parts with a grin on his face had been a shock. His eyes, too, when he had turned towards Barbara Kean. Those had not been the eyes of a sane person.

It had taken his realizing who she was, in her new body, for the look to leave his face. But it had been like magic. He had returned to himself in a heartbeat.

She had hoped for a moment the fit of insanity had been a symptom of grief, and that the news of her survival would be enough to get him out of that dark place, but it had been in vain. Oh, it was not as bad as she had feared at first, but he was unbalanced.

They had been too busy to talk after their reunion. Even if the building had been secured, there was a lot to do. The prisoners had to be sent back to Gotham for medical care, and Fish had gone back to Calvin, both to reassure him and to tell the other victims that the boy looked fine, but was short a kidney and needed dialysis. Kean had decided that she wanted the clinic to become “her new lair”, so Butch and his men had been busy disposing of the corpses. Fish had observed him, and quickly gathered that his attitude changed depending on the company he kept. With his men, he was a more confident version of himself, sharper, carefree. By Fish’s side, his softness returned. It was Barbara Kean who seemed to pull his darkness out.

Fish had no idea what to think of the woman yet, but her first impressions of her were not flattering.

The blonde was living in her own, mad, Disney-flavored little world. She had spent most of the cleanup quoting lyrics, or humming. “You can do a lot when you got such a happy working tune to hum, while you’re sponging up the soapy scum”* was now drilled into Fish’s head.

Butch liked her. He was charmed. And they were lovers, that much was blatant. Each of their interaction was a display of restraint, with Kean reaching for his shoulder or hips and pulling her hands away, and Butch leaning forward when she got close, to quickly pull back as if startled.

Barbara stunned Fish when she came to talk to her in private, looking concerned.

“You’ve been watching, haven’t you?”

Fish clicked her tongue.

“Watching?”

“Yes. Butch. Me. I-I… I just wanted to say, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow you.”

The blonde looked at her with huge, candid blue eyes.

“He thought you were dead, or I don’t believe he would have gotten involved with anyone. He’s so in love with you, you know? So, of course, that thing between us is _totally over_. I mean, I consider infidelity the most devastating betrayal one can possibly inflict in a relationship, and I would never encourage anyone to cheat!”

Fish did not gape, but she stared, and she was not altogether certain how much confusion was visible on her new face. She hated that.

“I mean”, Kean added, “when he stabbed Oswald, he kept going on about how you were the love of his life. So there is that.”

“When he _what_?”

“It’s a long story. He’ll tell you all about it”, Barbara replied with a childish grin, and instantly skipping away.

Fish _did_ gape, but no one could see her, so it was acceptable.

 

###

 

“You found quite the pretty girlfriend”, Fish commented from the bed she had chosen for herself in the guardhouse.

She was lounging, after days spent sleeping on the hard floor of the attic.

Butch was getting out of the shower, and had replaced his bloody suit by clothes taken from one of the guards’ closets. It was good to see him no longer caked in dried blood, even if it was a sight Fish would have preferred in a motel room in Gotham. But the helicopters were gone, packed with only two thirds of Dulmacher’s prisoners, and would come back in the early morning to pick the rest up. Leaving the island would have to wait until then.

“Girlf-. Oh. Barbara? Nah, it’s just…”

He waved his hand dismissively, then sat next to Fish, leaning over her legs.

“I’m so happy you’re alive”, he said.

_Smooth._

Fish let the topic go. His fucking someone else did not bother her. It was his sanity that concerned her.

“I hear you stabbed Penguin?” she said.

He chuckled, warm.

“Yeah. Oh, Fish. That’s kind of a long story. But, to be short, Oswald contracted me out to Barb’, we did something he did not like, so he gave me back to Zsasz to teach her a lesson. And then she abducted his mother and his girlfriend, arranged to exchange them against me, and gave me a knife during the trade. I killed Zsasz. But Oswald… I only stabbed him in the eye. I thought it would be funnier if Giulia got her hands on him, but the idiot let him run.”

“Wait. Giulia?”

“Maroni. Salvatore’s wi-”

“I know who she is! I just don’t see why she would be involved”, Fish snapped back. She breathed in. “I need a report. A full report.”

She sounded like herself. She had not sounded so much like herself, temper and all, in a long time. Butch smiled faintly, pleasantly surprised.

“As you wish, boss.”

It was a long report and an unbelievable one, even for Gotham City. It was enlightening, however. Fish now knew who the major players were, and what their situation was.

Giulia Maroni having taken the reigns of her family was not so surprising, but her alliance with Carmine was astonishing. Fish had known the old man would never stay away from Gotham, despite pretending he wanted to retire (hell, he had probably been convinced of his words), but his choice of friends was going to cause unrest in both of their families.

Kean, per se, was not a major player, but her chaotic M.O. meant you could not turn your back to her.

Penguin’s quick rise and fall from power was hilarious, and Fish was glad he was alive. It meant she could find him and kill him herself.

“I see Gotham did not grow boring while I was gone”, she commented.

He smiled fondly.

“Ha, well, same old, same old.”

She sat up and leaned forward, putting a hand on his chest.

“How are _you_?”

He shrugged and snorted, unconcerned, but kept smiling.

“I had a few bad weeks. I’m over that. I mean, I don’t have to worry about Zsasz anymore.”

She nodded, and moved her hand from his torso to his shoulder. It was a caress, and he could not have missed it, but he did not react. She had expected _at least_ a pause. A gasp. Any sign of arousal. He had been passionate enough when he had recognized her, a few hours before.

“So. Will you be following me or your new boss?” she asked.

He moved back, looking offended.

“Why would you even ask that? How is it even a question? Of course I’ll be following you.”

“I’m just wondering. You fancy that girl.”

“I don’t!”

Fish raised an eyebrow. Butch sighed, his shoulders sagging a little.

“I don’t”, he repeated. “She’s fun to be around but she’s too far gone. You can’t ‘fancy’ someone who’s unable to feel anything back.”

She raised her second eyebrow, seeing how he had just described a decade of their relationship, where he had been entirely able to be infatuated with her cold-hearted self.

“And I _mean_ unable”, Butch added, rolling his eyes. “Unlike someone I know.”

She patted his shoulder.

“Alright.”

There was a moment of unease. He shifted back. She moved closer, placing a hand on his thigh in a bolder invitation, just to check, but he just swallowed and moved away. She stared at him, feeling ill to the pit of her stomach as she understood what was happening.

“I, uh, I’m s-sorry”, he stammered.

She breathed in, closing her eyes. He took her hand, panicking.

“Fish, I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“No, I get it, don’t worry.”

Butch had never shown the slightest sign of attraction to Liza. Truth to be told, he was a faithful man. He had hardly ever shown lasting attraction to other women, even if he had never been abstinent. He had not cared about Liza’s stunning beauty, nor her attractiveness. He had not desired her, and he was not about to want a walking dead girl.

Fish had gotten over being stripped of her flesh and identity. She had spent months getting used to the transformation, imagining the uses she could make of it, the look on Carmine’s face when she would rob him of his sanity. She had grown used to wearing someone else’s skin. She knew she could face the grief, every day, when Liza’s face would stare at her in her mirror. She had been erased, but had convinced herself that it did not matter, because she had reinvented herself already, and everything Fish Mooney had been was dreams and lies made flesh.

She had focused on the anger, on the ways she would kill Dulmacher, on her revenge. She had bottled the horror up and forgotten about it.

But this? Looking at the man who had loved her from the instant they had met, and seeing _nothing_ in his eyes? She was not sure she could take it. It made her shake with fury and nausea. It made her want to kill.

“I’m sorry”, he murmured, caressing her cheek, all too aware of what was going on in her mind. “ _I_ _’m so sorry._ ”

 

###

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barb's song: Enchanted - Happy working song


	45. Chapter 45

Fish had planned drop Barbara Kean and run off with Butch the moment they landed on the continent, but that plan had been delayed by a small detail that Butch had neglected to mention Gotham had been in sight: the blonde held Harvey hostage.

Voices had been raised about that particular issue. Butch was still very apologetic about it.

In the end, the argument had ended with Kean screaming herself hoarse.

“IT’S JUST UNTIL THE END OF THE WEEK! I told Renee I’d kill him if she didn’t find Jim by the end of the week! It’s not going to be much of an incentive if I LET HIM GO!”

“We’d rather see him leave _alive_ ”, Butch had replied.

“FINE. FINE. I won’t kill him! I’ll let him go! Really, you _have_ to be difficult, don’t you? It’s like you can’t help yourself!”

“Sorry, Barb’.”

He had not said boss. She had rolled her eyes and snorted, annoyed.

“You’ll be helping with my next heist, just so you know.”

“I take a thirty percent share.”

“What, was I getting a discount for sex?”

“Nah, I just realized I helped you with the Picasso and the million you paid to purchase me has been vastly recovered.”

“You party pooper. We were having so much fun and you have to go and monetize it.”

“Yep.”

He _was_ fond of her.

That problem settled, they had stayed, moving from hideout to hideout. Fish had not gone to see Harvey, as he did not wish the news of her altered appearance to spread. She just spent most of her time in a corner of whatever room or place they had landed in, and planned her imminent grab for territory and resources.

Barbara was there most of the time, though she would sometimes disguise herself with a baseball team hoodie and a pair of dirty jeans, and vanish for hours. When she was present, she didn’t cause as many problems as Fish had expected. She was actually tolerable when you knew how to handle her stabby episodes (a chair to the face, Butch had casually commented). The rest of the time, you only had to park her in front of the television and find a reality show. She would throw things at the screen and laugh a bit too loud, but it kept her happy enough.

“Be careful”, Butch had warned Fish. “One of those days, she is going to get an _idea._ ”

He had made it sound like the birth of the antechrist.

The Idea made its appearance on their fourth day of hiding, while Fish was trying to pick the name of her new fake identity. They had tried to simply take over Liza’s name and past, but she had a criminal record, so they had dropped the idea. Butch had a few contacts that could create an entire background from scratch, and all Fish had to do was find a birthday, a first name, and to chose from a list of deceased couples who could be used as legal parents.

“Well, I don’t know”, she told Butch. “Since I’ve been, for lack of a better term, bleached, I thought I could be descriptive. Alba? Bianca?”

“Bianca!” Barbara chimed in from her seat in front of the television.

Butch and Fish both raised their eyebrows. Kean had been very quiet the entire day, and neither had heard the sound of her voice. Not even lyrics.

“Why Bianca?” Fish asked, knowing she was being lured straight into crazy land.

“You need to sound refined.”

“Alba sounds plenty refined to me.”

“No. It sounds _artistic_. You need to sound elegant. Classy. Polished. Very, very rich.”

The look on Butch’s face was one of agony. He gestured to Fish to shut up, but… In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Why ‘very, very rich’?”

“Because I need you to go and buy paintings for me.”

The lunatic was not able to give a detailed overview of her plan. Fish idly wondered if the girl could remember all of its parts at once.

“I’ll go make some coffee”, Butch announced with a long-suffering sigh.

“And _why_ should I get paintings for you?” his boss asked.

It was not the right question, and she knew it. She needed something that would encompass Kean’s entire idea.

It was a simple enough question.

“Nevermind that”, Fish said before the other woman could answer. “ _What is your plan?_ ”

Barbara grinned.

“I want you to pretend to be a wealthy socialite with a taste for modern art, and to go around from gallery to gallery buying overpriced doodles. See, I sold my art gallery before I was sent to Arkham. I intend to get it back, so I am going to provide Bianca Pickaname with an outrageous amount of money available through one of my offshore companies, so she can make herself known.” - She reached for a jar of nutella and stuffed a tablespoon of it in her mouth. - “By the time your reputation is established, trust me, the current owner will _beg_ you to buy the place.”

“Will he now?”

Kean nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve been calling him and his kids at random times of the night for days now. The man is terrified.”

There was something to be said about her ability to make people stare in disbelief.

Butch, who was coming back with two expressos, laughed under his breath. He put one of the cups in front of Fish.

“You were warned”, he said. “Strangely enough, her plans work.”

“Of course they do!” Barbara exclaimed.

“I assume you want the gallery to plant some mole who can socialize with the clientele and hear about the valuable artworks they have at home?” Fish commented.

“Exactly! I figure it would be the easiest way for us to figure out which places to rob. We get an expert who can perform services like verifying the authenticity of a piece, or value it, and TADAA, easy way into rich people's homes.”

“Us? Are we a team, now?”

Barbara flipped on her sofa, head hanging above the floor, legs resting over the seat's back.

“It makes senses, doesn’t it? Put together, we have it all: brawn, brains, looks, tons of money. We can run this town. Butch deals with the territory, gang wars, and police intimidation. I rob places and kill people too political to be assassinated the Mafia way. I’m certified crazy, I can just say I did not like their haircut. And you, sweetie, you establish the ties to the high society I can no longer maintain because of my whole ‘mass murderer’ thing.”

Fish pursed her lips.

“Don’t ever call me sweetie again.”

“But you _are_ sweet. You look like someone stole a baby angel straight from the skies. You are soooo adorable.”

“Never. Again.”

“What is it with the two of you and the killjoy attitude? Can’t you see I stay at peace with my inner self by expressing my positive feelings in a creative way?”

Butch raised an eyebrow.

“Do you even mean one word of that?”

“Of course not, I’m quoting my therapist.”

“Stellar job he did”, Butch replied, sipping his expresso.

“I’m really starting to take his advice to mind. SO! Are the two of you in?”

Fish drummed her nails on the table. It did not sound quite right. She needed her usual manicure, but the style did not fit her new image. Especially if it turned out she had to assume the identity of a trust fund baby or of some vapid socialite.

“Why would we want to ally ourselves with someone who could drop everything, at any moment, for a personal vendetta?”

Butch made a strangled noise, composed himself, and focused on his drink.

“Fun?” Kean replied. “And since you hate fun, and probably puppies too: tons of money. I thought I had made that clear.”

Fish considered that, and turned to her… No longer friend, no longer employee, but not her lover either. He was doing his best to remain uninvolved. He was not protesting either. But his expression was _his_ , not the cruel grin that would sometimes erase him.

“We could give it a try”, she said.

Barbara grinned.

“Amazing. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be out of your hair by the end of the week, when I’m done with that Bullock thing. I hate being a third wheel, and you lovebirds need your intimacy.”

Butch froze, uneasy, but did not comment.

Fish gave Kean a polite smile. The worst thing was the woman had not spoken in malice. She seemed to genuinely want them to be happy. That, or she was a fantastic actress.

 

###

 

Scottie kept hoping that the cops - that _Harvey_ \- would finally find them. It had been so long.

It was becoming harder and harder to believe rescue would be coming. Jim tried to be encouraging, when they found a few minutes to communicate. Then again, there was very little he could write in her hand at once. She was not about to get long speeches listing all of the reasons why they were going to be found soon, what leads the police had, what Jim thought Harvey would investigate. No. All she got was “K-E-E-P-H-O-P-I-N-G” and “S-H-O-U-L-N-B-E-L-O-N-G” and “J-U-S-T-W-A-I-T” and “S-O-O-N”.

She was starting to doubt. Harvey had admitted himself that he was not a good detective. He had been in trouble for arresting the wrong person a few months before. He said himself that none of his cases at work were progressing.

She hated to think that way. She tried to cling to Jim’s promises and to her feelings for Harv’. She suspected she would not manage to for very long. She had known terror, but this sense of isolation was nearly as horrendous.

David didn’t help.

She tried to convince him that there was hope, that they were being searched for, but there was no point. He only smiled, the quiet and resigned smile of someone who _had_ hoped, but been cured of it. He had waited for months, in vain, and was not going to let himself be convinced.

As long as she avoided the topic, he was pleasant. You knew you were talking to the ghost of a very charming man. He talked more and more. He was also growing more tactile, taking her hand, patting her shoulder, brushing the hair out of her face. But there was no attraction. No sexual attraction, at least. It was just a sort of fondness, as if he had been taking care of a child.

If she seemed down, as long as she did not mention an escape, he comforted her. Wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Held her hand. Tousled her hair. As resigned as he was, he was quietly confident in something else. That empty smile of his seemed to be enough to keep his necklace from beeping.

Scottie’s was not quite as silent. Sometimes, she slipped. She looked depressed. She failed to be cheerful. And David was there to distract Mrs. Valentine by pulling Scottie out of her thoughts, cheering her up.

“I-A-M-A-F-R-A-I-D”, she wrote in his hand after one of those incidents.

He chuckled, pushing her hair behind her ears, and kissing her forehead.

“Don’t worry”, he told her, not caring at all about breaking out of character. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

###

 

“So where is Nate?” Jim asked, as he found Sophie and Scottie lounging on David’s lawn, eating homemade cookies. “And David?”

The screen had new instructions, all of them pertaining to his “affair” with the brunette and how it had to be discovered that afternoon. It surprised Jim not to see Nate around. He had expected a staged scene between him and Sophie, or at least some stalking, but the blond was nowhere in sight. His wife did not seem overly concerned.

“Upstairs, both of them”, she replied. “Nate, because Mrs. Valentine needs repairs and cleaning around the house. David, because she wanted a short talk. Which is more surprising, I suppose. I’ve moved here years ago and I have very rarely visited Adora’s home.”

Jim nodded, tense, and turned to the screen.

“Don’t be so nervous”, Sophie told him. “Come on. Sit with us. Enjoy this rare afternoon of quiet. Shawn is napping, it’s a pretty day, and we have cookies.”

“Great cookies”, Scottie added, with an inviting smile.

The cop took a long, resigned breath, but smiled all the same. It was actually a pleasant invitation, and he knew it. He sat down.

“So, what discussion am I interrupting?”

“Who won the Super Bowl”, Scottie informed him.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I’ll let you know it’s a very important cultural event”, Sophie chimed in.

“Seriously?” Jim replied, more and more dubious.

“More precisely, we are discussing how I missed Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers”, his new match explained, sounding bitter. “And how they played American Girl. I would _really_ have wanted to see that.”

“She would get along marvelously with Harvey”, Scottie mumbled.

Sophie crossed her arms.

“And I’m not pleased about missing out on The Who too.”

“You have a point”, Jim murmured to Scottie.

He knew Harvey’s name was taboo, but if Crowne was talking to David, she would not be paying attention.

He missed Harvey. More importantly, he wondered if his partners had enough leads to find them, by now.

“Alright. Who wants coffee?” Scottie asked to cut the discussion short. “I’ll go make some.”

“I’ll take one”, Jim replied, raising to his feet.

Sophie sighed, but smiled, and closed the cookie box.

“I guess I’ll have one too”, she said, following them inside. “Need any help?”

They ended up finishing the cookies around a fresh coffee pot, the discussion having strayed to Julia Roberts and Erin Brockovich.

Ten minutes in, all of their necklaces started beeping.

Scottie was the first to look out the window to check the screen, blanched, and ran out.

Jim extracted himself from his spot between the table and the wall, which was about as easy as fitting his frame into a space meant for a child. The beeping did not stop. When he finally got out of the house, having lost a few precious second, the screen showed a single word.

“Pool.”

 

###

 

Scottie ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

“Pool.”

It could only mean one thing. David and Nate were upstairs. Sophie and Jim had been with her. The only person left unattended was Shawn, who had been supposed to be napping. Usually, Sophie locked him in his bedroom (which was not ideal, but Scottie was surprised the brunette bothered to take care of the boy at all, as she clearly disliked him). But maybe Sophie had forgotten, this time. Maybe the boy had decided to grab his swim ring to go play, just as he had been doing with his dad a few days before.

The redhead felt ill well before she saw the pool, as soon as she smelled the chlorine, and cold sweat ran down her back.

She slowed. She hastened. She stopped dead in her tracks when she arrived near the pool and discovered why all of their necklaces had been beeping as if about to explode.

It was Shawn. He was not alone. David was quietly sitting on the border of the pool, keeping the boy’s head underwater.

Shawn was not struggling.

“Scottie”, David said, with a blank smile.

She was paralyzed. Absolutely paralyzed. David let go of Shawn, who started floating face down to the center of the pool, unmoving. Scottie stared for a second, teeth chattering.

“We’ll get out, now”, David commented.

She forced herself to move, ran to the water, and dove.

 

###


	46. Chapter 46

 “Found anything?” Renee asked Crispus, who was coming back from a visit to an explosives manufacturer, and had crossed her path just as she walked out of the GCPD.

Her partner shook his head.

“No. They don’t sell small quantities, and their customers are in the construction and demolition business, mostly.”

It was the same answer every company they had contacted had given.

Renee groaned.

“I’m starting to think Gordon and Bullock being awful at their job is not the only reason they couldn’t track that perp down.”

They had reviewed every lead. They had been helped by Alvarez, who had worked on the case too, but the homicide department was in such disarray that he he and Sarah Essen had been grateful for the help. They had lost four detectives during Gilzean’s assault on the precinct, and four other officers had died in that same attack. A great many of the survivors were on leave, or hospitalized. It was not just that they were thankful for Renee and Crispus’ assistance: they were desperate for it.

“I’ll go give a few more phone calls”, Crispus said. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Scottie Mullens’ place. Maybe we missed something.”

She knew they had not. They had found a letter the woman had sent to Harvey, describing how she could no longer cope with the horrors Gotham reminded her of, and how she and Jim Gordon had eloped, to find a place that did not drag them down so much. Even Renee could tell every word was crap, and she had never met the woman.

“Alright”, Cris replied. “See you later.”

Renee nodded and walked to her car, sitting behind the wheel and taking a few moments to get her phone out of her bag. The passenger door opened and someone sank into the passenger seat. The cop had her gun out before she even saw the face of the intruder.

“Oy! What is it with you cops and basic gun safety?” the teenager exclaimed.

Renee blinked.

“Who _are_ y-”

She went silent as she recognized the girl. Selina Kyle, thief, Dollmaker abductee, and the Wayne murder witness. The girl was frowning at her.

“Are you going to put that away, or what?”

The cop put the weapon back into its holster, and stared at Kyle.

“Why are you here? Do you need help?”

“Do I look like I need help?”

She did. She was a dirty street urchin with more temper than food in her stomach.

Renee did not answer.

“So are you making any progress on that Jim thing?” the girl asked. “Or do I have to go and break that fat idiot out _again_?”

“I’m sorry, are you talking about breaking _Bullock_ out?”

“Well, yeah. I got him out once, then the moron had to go and arrest Barb’. I told him it was a bad idea, but did he listen? No. Look where that got him.”

“You know Harvey. You know Barbara.”

“Listen, lady. I’m not here to tell you my life story. I’m here to know if you are going to find Jim or not!”

“I am not going to discuss police business with-”

“Yeah you are, because from where I’m sitting, you’re getting nowhere. I can ask around. So what do you have? People go missing and get a bomb around the neck? What else?”

Renee frowned.

Kyle huffed.

“Listen. The last time I played informant, I was chased by hired killers, so it’s _really_ not my thing. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“I don’t even see how you could help on this, even if I was ready to involve you.”

“Try me. I lived with Barb’. I saw her come back from her date with the Ogre. I saw _what_ came back. So let me tell you, you better find Jim. It’s not just Bullock she’ll kill if you fail. She’ll go after you, and your mom and dad with their nice little shop, and everyone else. Want that?”

The detective stared at her. The teenager had a point, and one Renee had considered extensively. Barb’ had gone after Jim’s girlfriend. She had gone after his partner. She had gone after Janet Cohen, and that was a name the cop knew, having heard stories about a birthday party gone wrong. Barb’ had never quite said the spilled orange juice had been a big deal, but she had remembered the little girl’s name, and not the others’.

“Fine. People go missing and get a bomb around the neck. There is no way to track down where the materials came from. It could be contraband, it could bought in industrial quantities, it could have been bought years ago. The abductor seems to have money. Enough to buy a house on short notice, and through a shell company.”

“Money people, then.”

“That’s most likely.”

“And they don’t get out of Gotham?”

“That’s what we think.”

“They why aren’t you going after the weird, creepy, rich people of Gotham?”

Renee stared her down.

“First, the list of creepy rich people in Gotham is very long. And then, we can’t just barge into people’s homes and ask them if they happen to keep prisoners in their attic.”

The brat rolled her eyes.

“You know how Bullock knows a ton of people who know a ton of things about the mob and all?”

“Yes?”

“Well, you need the same thing, but for the upper-class side.”

“And _you_ happen to know someone like that?”

“Yeah. It’s not hard either. You ask the help.”

 

###

 

Nate had been working in Mrs. Valentine’s surveillance room, replacing a failing screen by a brand new one. The old woman had been talking to him, giving him instructions from her comfy massaging recliner. Neither of them had been looking at the twenty-five other screens, the ones that showed the basement. They should have.

When Nate had noticed David and Shawn on the screen that showed the pool, from the corner of his eye, when he had turned to watch, it had been too late.

 

###

 

Jim pulled Scottie out of the water, dragging her away from the pool, but wasting little time. She let go of Shawn, whom she had managed to grab from the middle of the pool, before paddling desperately to get herself out of it. She curled up into a trembling ball, but Jim ignored her, laying Shawn on his back and shaking him. The boy did not react. He was not breathing either.

David was not trying to interfere. He had not moved since Jim had arrived, and was still smiling sadly, playing with the water.

Everyone’s necklace was still beeping.

Jim tilted Shawn’s head back, placed a hand on his breastbone, and started giving him chest compressions.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve_ _…_

He heard Sophie scream.

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen_ _…_

“Stop!”, Sophie screamed again.

Jim could hear another presence, other footsteps, charging. Nate. David moved. Sophie ran to grab her husband, heels clicking.

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one_ _…_

There was a smack, and Sophie moaned and fell into the pool.

_Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five_ _…_

Then Nate kicked David in the face and in the gut, and would certainly kill him. Jim focused on the CPR and hoped Sophie would be able to stop the fight.

_Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, off._

Shawn had not reacted at all, and Jim had no idea how much time he had spent in the water. Four minutes without oxygen and he would have permanent brain damage. Maybe it was already too late.

The cop pinched the child’s nose, gave him two rescue breaths, and resumed the compressions.

_One, two, three, four_ _…_

He vaguely noticed David was not defending himself.

 

###

 

Sophie climbed out of the pool as fast as she could - which, in a dress, took more time than she wanted - and jumped on Nate’s back.

She was not about to let him kill David. It would have been a waste of time, and they had none to spare.

“STOP!” she screamed as he tried to throw to the ground. “NATE!”

She had seen him arrive. When they had raced to the pool, she had lagged behind Jim, despite the beeping and the obvious emergency. She kept herself fit, but she did not have his training, nor his legs. So, she had been the first to see Nate, and she had known immediately he had been the one to activate the necklaces. His shirt was stained with blood and his cheek was scratched.

He had been upstairs, with the old bitch, and a deactivated necklace. She did that, every now and then, so he could move freely around her and through the mansion while he tended to the repairs and the cleaning. With Shawn alive, she had no reason to worry. With the boy dead…

“WILL YOU LISTEN?” she shouted when he managed to free himself and threw himself on David again.

There would be no stopping him, Sophie knew that. Not the father of a dead child. But she tried all the same, kicking him in the back of the knee, slapping his ear and face, and hitting his throat when he pulled back to push her away. He coughed, raising his hands to his throat, so she kicked him in the belly and dropped on him.

“Snap! Out! Of! IT!”

He coughed again, not quite choking, but at least incapacitated. He still struggled to free himself but, in that state, she could hold him down.

“ _Listen to me_ ”, she said, loudly enough to cover the beeping of both her and David’s necklaces. “You need to go upstairs and _find a phone_. You hear me?”

Nate rolled to the side, easily pushing her away, and forced himself up. His blind rage was gone, leaving only dark emptiness. She stood and grabbed his shirt.

“You _HAVE_ to”, she insisted. “ _I_ can’t.”

He took a deep breath that turned into a strangled moan.

“GO!”, Sophie snapped, pushing him towards the stairs. “ _GO._ No one else can!”

She had to shove him again, and then throw herself against his chest to get him to take a step back. Even then, all he was looking at was Jim’s efforts to resuscitate Shawn. She grabbed his arm and dragged him away, to the stairs.

“Go. Go”, she repeated, until he started running to exit.

She watched him get out.

“You’ll all be free”, David said from behind her, too quietly, and making her jump.

Sophie had not spotted him following them. Then again, she had not spotted him when he had walked into her home to fetch Shawn from his bedroom.

She whirled and punched him in the face, sending him reeling. Her arm hurt up to the elbow. David merely wiped his cheek. He was not looking at her. His eyes were turned to the ground, and he smiled, still, that knowing yet empty smile pasted on his face since Sabrina’s death. _You_ _’ll all be free._

She had known he could not be trusted around the boy. He couldn’t be trusted around _himself_. She clenched her fist and hit him again, and again, and again. He did not strike back. He did not even try to block the blows.

“ _You_ ’ll all be free”, he had said.

“You.”

Sophie kept hitting.

 

###


	47. Chapter 47

Shawn coughed and moved.

Jim pulled away, stopping the compressions, holding his breath. He kept counting in his head. He had not dared to hope for results, and relief washed over him.

The boy coughed again and tried to sit, immediately vomiting water from both his nose and mouth. The cop patted his back until he stopped heaving and choking. When Shawn started crying, in a high-pitched but continuous keening noise, Jim pulled him close and rocked him against his chest.

He looked around. Sophie was still curled up on the ground, hands cupped over her mouth, taking long, deep breaths. Nate, David and Sophie were nowhere in sight.

“SOPHIE”, Jim screamed. “SOPHIE! _SOMEONE_!”

He called until his voice went hoarse. Sophie came running, disheveled, hands bloody, and dropped to her knees next to Jim.

“Oh God. Ohgodyoudidit”, she exclaimed, looking at Shawn in disbelief.

The boy reached for her, and Jim released him. Sophie opened her arms and held him close, in a purely automatic motion. Well, in this situation, it was better for the boy to have a distant mother than no mother at all.

“Where is Nate?” Jim asked over the unceasing beeping of his necklace.

“Upstairs, looking for a phone.”

“David?”

“I left him near the exit. Don’t know if he is still there.”

The blond took a deep breath. He had to deal with that. David had to be locked up, if only to keep him safe from Nate. He stood up.

“Let’s go inside”, he said, pulling Sophie up.

Shawn was still wailing, but it was good to hear. At least, he could breathe. Jim joined Scottie and lifted her up to carry her to Sophie’s home. The redhead was still trembling. Her teeth were chattering.

“It will be okay”, Jim murmured. “It’ll be okay.”

His words did not calm her, but getting her away from the pool did the trick. She gestured to be let down a few feet from the house. She had to grab his sleeve to steady herself, but she managed to walk to the door. She collapsed on the sofa while Sophie fetched towels to dry Shawn. She wrapped him in fleece blankets, had him sit on a cushion next to the space heater. Jim told her to lock the door, and ran out to find David.

It turned out to be simple enough: his necklace was beeping. It was hard to hear when Jim’s own necklace made the exact same noise straight into his ears, and he had to wrap its speakers with a handkerchief to tone it down. The cop nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard beeping from very close. He turned, and found David sitting under the hedge between his house and the next.

He was bloody and bruised, and his nose was definitely broken. He looked up, with a faint, tired smile.

“Hey.”

The blond had no idea what to say to him. Even with the trauma, even with the prolonged captivity, he could not wrap his head on how someone could get twisted enough to murder a child. He was a detective. He had seen his fair share of murders, a few children among them. It always hit him in the gut. It hit everyone in the gut.

“Get up”, he said.

Sirkis took a deep breath, nodded, and stood. Jim pushed him towards his house, filled with disgust. He knew mental illness deserved _some_ compassion, but that would wait until after he had recovered from giving CPR to a three years old boy. He led David to his bedroom and pushed him inside. The man looked at the floor.

“It could only be Nate, you know?” he said, back turned to Jim.

“Please be silent.”

“It had to be. No one would have found us”, David continued. “Ever.”

“Even if it were the case, it did not justify attempting to kill a child.”

David chuckled. It sounded like a sob.

“He was fake like the rest”, he replied.

Jim stared at him.

Their necklaces went silent. They both froze, puzzled, then the cop left the room, locking the door behind him, and ran out to look at the screen. There were only two words on it: “no phone”. Jim swallowed. That was not good. Shawn would need medical attention. You could not be sure he would be alright without it, even if he was breathing and moving just fine for now.

“Nate. Can you hear me?” he asked, pushing his necklace closer to his mouth.

It took a moment, but the screen replied: “yes”.

“Do you know how to disarm the necklaces?”

“No”, came the answer.

Jim cringed, but more text appeared on the screen.

“I can get you upstairs. I can command most of the doors.”

 

###

 

It was, Giulia had to admit, eerie to take a morning walk with Carmine Falcone in the middle of her territory. Then again, the cat was out of the bag. She had given no justifications to her men. She had punished those who conspired, and made a grab for Penguin’s territory, be it by luring his capos to her side, or by having them removed. The disgruntled had been forced to swallow their complaints: the family had not had such control over the city in decades, if ever.

She had no idea what Carmine’s endgame was. He seemed happy enough to hang around, listen to the news, give a few tips. She knew he was a power hungry man, however, or at least a possessive one. Gotham was the work of his life. Seeing him quietly surrendering it was suspicious.

Giulia had asked him if he planned to leave, and his answer had been noncommittal. After Oswald Cobblepot’s death, “maybe”.

“I’m surprised he has not shown himself”, she told Carmine as they walked from the restaurant to the bookstore at the end of the street, surrounded by bodyguards. “He must know we have his mother, by now. I had expected to be contacted quickly.”

“He could be dead already, though I would not put my money on it. His injury to the eye was severe. Without adequate medical care, infection would have been inevitable.”

“We are talking about a man who pranced around on a shattered leg, and swam out of Gotham River on that very leg. He is a roach. I won’t believe for a second he would have let a small wound stop him.”

“I would not p-”

Carmine stopped dead in his tracks, looking straight ahead, skin going clammy. Giulia turned to follow his eyes, but saw nothing worthy of note.

“Did you see something?”, she asked.

He blinked, and swallowed, then snapped out of his trance, looking pale as a ghost.

“I’m sorry”, he said. “I was woolgathering. You were asking?”

“I was asking why you froze all of a sudden.”

“I thought I recognized an old friend”, the old man explained, starting to walk again. “Just my mind playing tricks on me. Shall we go?”

 

###

 

Renee was driving to Wayne manor when her phone rang, and would have ignored it if the caller had not tried over and over again. Selina Kyle ended up grabbing the phone and holding it up to her, so the cop parked and answered.

“Hello, darling”, Barbara said. “We need to talk.”

“Now?”

“Well, I changed my mind about Bullock, so… Let’s say in twenty minutes, at the entrance of the abandoned attraction park on Miagani island? Oh, and don’t call your detective friends, I don’t feel like entertaining a large crowd today.”

Renee swore.

“Barbara, I can’t possibly make it, I’m-”

“I’ll be waiiiting”, her ex interrupted, hanging up.

The cop tried to call back, to no avail, so she didn’t waste any more time. She just started driving towards the city, at breakneck speed.

“What did she want?” Kyle asked.

“She ‘changed her mind’ about Harvey Bullock.”

The brat swore.

“So where are we going?”

“ _We_ are not going anywhere, I’m drop-”

“So how much time can you afford to lose trying to drag me out of your car, exactly?”

It was Renee’s turn to swear.

In the end, it took her thirty minutes to get to the old attraction park, and that without stopping to get rid of her passenger.

“Stay hidden”, she told Selina as she got out of the car. “Don’t intervene.”

The girl rolled her eyes. So did Renee.

She made her way to the park entrance, by foot, looking for sentries. She took a good look at the park at the same time. It had only closed two years before, but had already fallen into disrepair. Every surface was covered in graffiti. The attractions had been pulled apart, their metal stolen. A rollercoaster ride was missing entire stretches of its track. A ferris wheel was still standing, mostly intact. Snipers were hiding in some of its cabins.

Barbara was waiting by the gates, next to a car, three guards, and a kneeling Harvey Bullock. He was tied up, hands cuffed behind his back.

“Renee!” the blonde greeted her, warmly, walking to her in a perfectly cut little black dress with lace sleeves. “You’re finally here! I had been starting to wonder if you would come.”

“I’m here. What is it about _changing your mind_?” the cop asked, trying not to show her anxiety.

It would take very little for Barbara to kill Bullock, and a lot to convince her otherwise, if she had already decided to execute him.

“I realized I was wrong to blackmail you”, Barb’ said, features twisted by guilt and shame. “I…”

The cop studied her face, cautious.

“Wrong?”, she repeated, as neutrally as she could.

“Baby… Do you understand me now? Sometimes… I feel… A little mad?”*

The lyrics. Of course. _The lyrics._ The blonde had been quoting song after song, when she had gone to talk to Renee after getting Falcone and Maroni to release her. Britney’s spear “toxic” had been the most used, as Barbara had not forgotten Renee’s well meaning “we are toxic together”. The detective was not sure the songs expressed Barbara’s feelings, or if her feelings morphed to fit the lyrics.

She did not answer.

“But don’t you know that _no one_ alive can always be an angel?”* Barbara continued, pleading. “When things go wrong, I… I… I seem t-to go _bad_ … But…”

“You are just a soul whose intentions are good?”*

“Exactly. Well. Partly. Sometimes. Right now, they are.”

Renee turned to Harvey, who looked like death boiled over.

“Are you going to let him go?”

Barbara nodded, big blue eyes growing wet.

“I was just so worried, you know? I want Jim found, and safe, and I thought you would need incentive to look for him…”

_Found, and safe. Right._

“Do you even _know_ me?”

“I… I was just being paranoid”, the blonde said, caressing Renee’s cheek. “I was so scared. Of course you’d do your best to find him, regardless of the circumstances.”

The cop’s flesh crawled. She had been on the receiving end of that same gesture hundreds of times, but the tenderness was gone, just as any sort of feeling, and it made the touch horrifying.

“I thought you were set on destroying Jim. Why aren’t you happy he is gone?”

“I keep having that discussion”, Barbara muttered, shrugging. “I care for Jim. I told him so.”

Renee pursed her lips.

“And me? Should I expect a taste of the same medicine?”

Her ex’s eyes went wide.

“What? Oh, no! Absolutely not, darling. I have nothing against you at all. You have nothing to learn.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I… It took time, really, but I finally understood that everything you ever did, even leaving me, was out of love. So you are a good person, and you do not lie to yourself, and… I respect that. And I should be grateful, too. I would never have found myself if you had not walked away. I would have forever used you as a crutch, instead of finding my own strength.”

The words tore through Renee. If. If. If. If she had not walked away, Barbara would have had no reason to follow Jason Lennon home. If she had not walked away, maybe she could have helped Barbara instead of letting her drink herself to oblivion. It would have been a rough ride, a mean one, but if she had bothered to try, she could have helped her lover, instead of leaving her to her own devices. There would have been temptation, and relapses, and pain, but if Renee had not been a coward, if she had been stronger, she would have pulled it off. No one would have ended up dead or broken. No one would have lost their minds.

“Barb’…”

The blonde put her hands on Renee’s shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her. The cop froze and let it happen, stunned, horrified, and filled with a longing she had thought gone. She closed her eyes.

Barbara pulled away.

“I’ll be in touch”, she said in a soft voice. “I want us to be friends. I want us to get along. I miss you, you know?”

It sounded sincere, but it was just an echo of a long gone past. Renee nodded, eyes still closed, lips trembling.

“Let’s go!”, Barbara told her men.

She threw the cuffs’ key in Bullock’s direction, then got into the car with her men. They drove away quickly, leaving Renee to free her fellow detective. She untied him and pulled the tape that covered his mouth off.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barbara's song: the Animals: don't let me be misunderstood.


	48. Chapter 48

At five, as convened with Butch, Fish returned to the penthouse they were using as a hideout. Barbara Kean seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of every garconnière in town, and was set on squatting the less visited. It made for very nice accommodations, though Butch had mentioned unexpected visits by the actual tenants ended in blood and fire.  
Fish was exhausted and in pain. Walking had not agreed with her scars, nor with the lengthened bones of her legs.  
Butch was already there when she arrived, sitting on the sofa with a TV magazine, and he grinned to her.  
“You should have seen the look on his face”, he said. “It was priceless.”  
They had gone to the Bowery that afternoon, both to spy on Maroni’s businesses - like the restaurant - and to do some shopping. “Bianca” needed clothes. Fish needed vicodin, buckets of it, but she had not shared that with Gilzean. She had quietly gone to the pharmacy, after they had parted ways, in the early afternoon. He had wanted to drive around, check the mood, but he could hardly afford to get out of the car. He would have been easily recognized. It was not a risk for freshly born Bianca Steeplechase (Barbara had picked the name, deciding it sounded posh enough, and uncommon enough not to attract questions of the “are you related to the Chase from Metropolis?”).  
So, Butch had dropped her off, and watched her enact the first step of her plan: letting Carmine see her. She had been wearing an outfit similar to Liza’s, with a shawl and pastel clothes. She had made sure the old bastard could only catch a glimpse of her, of course, and quickly vanished into the crowd. But, by now, he was questioning his eyesight.  
In time, he would be questioning his mind.  
“I saw”, Fish replied. “He looked at me straight in the eye.”  
She batted her eyelashes over her new sterling gray colored lenses. Butch laughed.  
“You are evil”, he said.  
She smirked.  
“I know.”  
He looked at her with a faint smile and a tender expression, daydreaming, then shook himself out of it.  
“So, bought anything good?”  
“Business cards. Embossed, with black text, silver initials, and a vibrant blue name. By Miss Kean’s instructions”, she explained, clicking her tongue.  
He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced by the general description.  
“Well, she’s the socialite”, he replied, shrugging. “Anything else?”  
“Clothes, shoes, more clothes, earrings, and a manicure.”  
She frowned at that last word. Pale, glossy pink nails with white tips were not her idea of a manicure, but she would have to tolerate the new look. Once they had the gallery, she would make sure to find a style closer to her tastes. At the moment, however, she had to stay in character.  
She dropped the bags on the sofa, sighing, and got a pastel blue vest from the closest one.  
Butch put a hand on her forearm.  
“We’ll get you something more like you soon enough”, he said. Then he frowned, looking her up and down. “Are you alright?”  
“Yes”, she replied. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll just go take a nap.”  
He studied her face, then let go of her arm, brushing her skin with the tip of his fingers, to the tip of hers. She shivered, and walked away as if it had not happened.  
Once in the bedroom, door locked behind her, she popped several pills and dropped into bed, trying her best not to move, and to ignore the pain flaring in her articulations. Eventually, it receded. Her rage did not, however.

###

“You look like hell”, Kyle said from the roof of Renee’s car, when the detective arrived with Harvey.  
The girl notion of “hiding” left a lot to be desired. At least, she had not tried to spy on the meeting with Barbara (or she had not been spotted, which was just as likely).  
“Leave the man alone”, Renee snapped, searching for her keys.  
Bullock was clearly not in a state to be messed with. The first question he had asked was “how many cops dead?”, and he had not said a word since she had told him all about the casualties of Gilzean’s attack on the GCPD.  
“I didn’t mean him. Hi, Harv’”  
“I should have know you’d be here”, the man groaned. “Do I want to know how you ended up here?”  
“Still looking for Jim and your girlfriend. The cop lady happened to work on the case.”  
Bullock sighed and opened the car door, dropping into the passenger seat.  
“I don’t suppose you found them?” he asked after closing the door and rolling the window down.  
“Not yet”, Selina replied. “But I have a lead.”  
Renee stared at the girl, who seemed to have entirely forgotten about her. The teenager entered the car from the driver side, squeezing herself between the seats to get to the back.  
“You have a lead”, Harvey repeated. “You have a lead.”  
“Yes”, Kyle said, gesturing to Renee. “What are you waiting for? We’re late!”  
The detective rolled her eyes and climbed into the car.  
“Considering the circumstances, I think Pennyworth won’t mind us being late”, she pointed out.  
“You think? The guy won’t let you eat if you miss breakfast by more than ten minutes. He’s going to be pissed.”

###

Leslie had learned a great many things during the long days she had spent locked in with Miriam and Cobblepot.  
The first thing was that the man had an extraordinary pain resistance. He walked on a leg that had clearly been shattered and never fixed, and did not seem to mind that in the least. She had seen him show the same disregard for the pain his eye caused him, when he should have been crippled and delirious. She had managed to get him some treatment, by sending Miriam to the pharmacy with a prescription, and he was finally getting better. At first, she had thought he would not make it. Now that he was out of danger, she did not see much of a difference in his behavior. He shivered less, he was not covered in cold sweat, but that was it.  
The other thing she had learned was that Miriam was more dangerous than he was. Cobblepot was a calculating psychopath. Miriam was volatile, prone to outbursts and fits of rage, and would have been impossible to reason if she had lost control. Leslie had made sure to keep her cat away from the woman.  
Also, attempting to escape them was useless. Neither of them seemed to be able to sleep.  
The last thing was that having Jim teach her how to use a gun would have been a bit less pointless if she had not left her gun in her glove compartment.  
She had no phone, no weapons, and roommates armed with a gun and a collection of knives, guarding both the windows and the doors. She had no news of Jim (save for that letter she wished she could have shown to Harvey and Sarah, as it clearly proved that Jim and Scottie’s disappearances were linked to the Bakerton/Stephenson case). Cops had come to knock on her door, and Cobblepot had forced her to stay silent and let them go. While she hoped the two maniacs would just leave once Oswald’s health got better, Leslie was still waiting for an opportunity. In the meantime, she went about her day, cooking, reading, ignoring the intruders, and trying to stay sane.  
She was preparing herself a bowl of cereal (having run out of fresh food) when she heard the window behind her slide open. She whirled just in time to see a blonde woman in a red hoodie climb into the apartment. There was no fire escape on that side, so climbing was the exact term.  
Barbara.  
“Hi, sweetie”, the intruder sing-sang. “Long time no see.”  
Leslie took a careful step back, stumbling against the table.  
“I’m sorry to have to barge in like that”, the blonde said. “I was going to leave you alone for a while, promise! But then my plans went to hell and now I need a new hostage.”  
She started humming “Pumped up kicks”.  
Leslie ran. Barbara shot her, missing by an inch. The doctor went straight to Cobblepot, who happened to have a gun, which he had already gotten out and was pointing at the kitchen door.  
“What is ha-”  
Barbara peeked in. He shot, several times, his aim off due to his vision loss, but still managed to get most of the bullets through the door.  
The blonde laughed, hiding behind the wall.  
“Well now that’s a surprise! What’cha doing here, Ozzie?”  
Cobblepot stood in silence, pushing Miriam behind the cover of the sofa, and limped to the kitchen wall, pressing himself against it. He inched closer to the door, weapon at the ready, listening for Barbara. She did not make a sound.  
They all waited. After a few minutes, Penguin frowned, and gestured to Leslie, pointing at the door.  
“Go check”, he mouthed.  
She tiptoed to the kitchen, taking a careful look inside. It was empty, as far as she could tell, and she whispered that to Cobblepot. He peeked inside the other room, pushing the door against the wall to check if Barbara was hiding behind it, then walked into the kitchen. He checked behind the counter, which confirmed Barbara was gone.  
“We are leaving”, he said. “Right now. Gilzean is probably on his way.”

###

Harvey tried to focus on the task at hand. The other things he had on his mind were not pretty.  
The first thing he had asked Pennyworth had been “is there booze in here?”. The butler had frowned, but taken a long look at Harvey, the clothes he had worn for a week, the faint bloodstains on his arms, the dirt on his knees. The sight had to be convincing, because the cop had found himself nursing a glass of prime quality eighteen years old single malt scotch. That got him dark looks from both Montoya and the broody little brat that was Bruce Wayne.  
The boy had joined in in the questioning of Pennyworth. “Joined in” was not the exact term either. The boy presided, like a CEO in a business meeting, analyzing every word that was said. Every now and then, he and the street urchin made faces at each other, ranging from the gloomy to the annoyed. They were about as subtle about it as… Well, as teenagers trying to be subtle.  
Pennyworth leaned forward over the table, fingers steepled.  
“I assume you know the list of eccentric or otherwise suspicious individuals in this social circle is fairly extensive”, he said.  
“We do”, Montoya replied. “We are just asking if some of them have more of a reputation as bad em-”  
“We just want the list of the really creepy ones”, Kyle cut in. “The ones where the staff gets the hell out and can’t explain why. The ones who don’t have nearly enough staff. The ones who could hide a big prison at home.”  
Everyone gave her a pointed “how dare you interrupt” look. She huffed at her little boyfriend and ignored everyone else.  
“I assure you the ‘staff’ would have easily noticed a however well hidden prison”, Pennyworth commented.  
“Well, I don’t know, Alfred”, Wayne chimed in. “It seems to me like a secret room with a single entry point could be easily concealed.”  
His butler threw him a sharp glance. The boy glared back.  
“Alright”, Harvey said, gulping down the rest of his glass and letting the alcohol burn its way down. “We just need a generic list. It doesn’t have to be exact. Just a list, with names, and why those people are fishy. It ain’t rocket science.”  
“Also”, Kyle added, “we are requisitioning one of your cars so we can, you know, divide our efforts.”  
“Alfred can drive you wherever you need to go”, Bruce offered, or ordered (his tone made it unclear).  
“We just need the car!”  
Harvey groaned.  
“I never said we needed a car. Montoya called Allen, we’ll have enough cars for everyone soon enough.”  
“I am going to reformulate”, the boy brat declared. “Alfred is going to drive you around because it will be much easier for my legal guardian to knock on those people’s doors and get an answer than it would be for you. It seems to me like an advantage you can hardly ignore.”

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Must... Finish... Story... Before... Episode... Two... Airs...


	49. Chapter 49

 “I got the cat”, Jim said, joining Sophie and Scottie in Margaret’s living room.

Shawn was with them and wailing. He had been crying since they had brought him upstairs, and he was obviously terrified of everything: the sun, the room, the bird noises outside. Sophie had closed the blinds and put some music on to calm him down, but it had been useless. The two women were holding him in turns. Jim had been sent to collect Fishstick, with the hope that the furball would do a better job of distracting the child. It worked to some extent: as soon as the cat was dropped onto his lap, Shawn stopped bawling, hugged the animal, and sobbed quietly against its fur.

The three adults sighed in relief.

“I’ll go find Nate”, Jim announced. “Is he still in the surveillance room?”

“I think he’s in the office, he’s still hoping the old bitch wrote down the unlock codes.”

The cop nodded and left, trying to find the other man. He was not in the office, where every drawer and cabinet had been opened and emptied. He was not in the library either. Jim found him in Crowne’s bedroom, dragging the mattress away from her bed.

“Anything new?” the detective asked.

“ _Nothing._ No notes, no hints, and of course _no phone_.”

He kicked the mattress, was not satisfied with the resulting bounce, so he sent a chair flying instead.

Even with Crowne dead, they were still trapped, unable to walk through the house’s doors, as the control room that disabled said doors’ sensors was at the other end of the park. Nate was able to reset the daily timer that triggered the necklace’s explosions. He could make the things beep, or stop beeping. He could make them explode, if he so wanted (and Jim was endlessly surprised David’s head was still firmly attached to his neck). But each necklace had a specific unlock code, and Crowne had been the only one to know them. They could roam the mansion, but it did not give them a way out. But they had food for years. They could wait for rescue.

Not being able to find a phone was the worst thing at the moment. By some miracle, Shawn looked fine (if traumatized), but he still needed a medical exam, and worry was driving Nate crazy.

They knew where to find one, too. Margaret kept hers in a safe in her office, behind a portrait of her and her husband. Nate and Jim had heard it ringing. They had not managed to open the safe.

Nate ran a hand through his hair, panting.

“You really think the cops will find us?” he asked.

Jim sighed.

“It was a hard case to crack while we were working on it. Very little to work with. The necklaces themselves were destroyed, with no way to identify the parts. The abductions themselves were clean work. Sabrina’s couldn’t have taken more than four minutes, and no vehicle was spotted.”

“Valentine refined her methods, and had us do it. Me and David, I mean. It was all planned by the second, too. She stalked everyone.”

“Were you the first?”

“I think so. Me and Becky. The lane was already all built when I arrived, however. There might have been others before.”

“How did she even catch you? Did she have an accomplice?”

Nate shook his head, sitting on the bed frame.

“No. She used the same trick as with you. Old lady with dementia. I followed her home… And there was a bloody _pit_ right at the entrance. I spent a two days in that hole, no food, no water, until I passed out. I woke up in here.”

Jim sighed and nodded.

“There’s more to find now, you know? I was seen following her to that house. We sent those letters about that _elopement,_ it couldn’t have been clearer. I wrote her bloody _name_ in the one I sent Harvey.”

“You did?”

“Yes. ‘It is M. Crowne’. Capitalized letters. If they show it to our forensics scientist, he _will_ catch that.”

“It was sent _days_ ago. How come he has not?”

“I don’t _know_. I thought he would have by now. Him, or my partner. Maybe something happened that got them both busy. There were a lot of things going on right before I was captured.”

Barbara’s visit to the precinct, with Gilzean and Zsasz, came to mind. She had not hesitated to abduct Sarah’s girls back then. Had she upped her game while Jim had been trapped? What if she had gone after Leslie and Harvey?

He closed his eyes.

“We will find a way to send a message”, he assured. “Hopefully a little less drastic than Sophie’s plan.”

She had proposed to set the place on fire and to wait for the emergency responders, having a very high and inaccurate opinion of the fire department’s response time.

Nate had gone very quiet, and was staring at the floor.

“I left messages.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Every time she took me out to stalk someone - like you and your girlfriend, and Scottie and your partner - I left messages. If I could find five seconds, any opportunity, I’d try to write my name somewhere. ‘Help me’. Never saw any results. You know, it’s fast food, napkins, and I couldn’t look down because of the necklace’s camera.”

Jim stared at him, picturing it all, small notes thrown away or ignored. He walked to Nate and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

###

 

Fish had given up on sleep, and settled for picking an outfit for the evening. She had retrieved her shopping bags and was trying everything on, dress after dress.

Butch knocked on her door as she was halfway dressed.

She paused.

“Yes?”

“I have news”, he said. “Barbara just called.”

Fish hesitated, staring at herself in the mirror. You could see all of the demarcations, where all of her new, harvested skins merged together. She had read up on skin grafts, and had found out that grafted tissue would eventually replaced by her own, in her original skin pigmentation. It did not seem to apply to limbs. She had no idea if she would see changes, patches of dark brown in the middle of that milky white, or if her new appearance would last. Dulmacher’s experiments had been far more advanced than the published research she had gotten her hands on. There was no way to tell if he had found a way to prevent the return to a native pigmentation. He had clearly intended for the transformation to be permanent. Now, “permanent” could mean a great many things in terms of duration. Maybe he had planned to kill her in less than a year, too.

Regardless of the answer to those questions, she looked like a ragdoll, and felt like one.

“Come in”, she said, bracing herself.

He did, looking quite happy, but his glee faded when he took a look at her. His face grew serious, and joined her next to the mirror, studying her reflexion.

“Penguin is still in town”, he announced. “He was hiding at Gordon’s girlfriend’s place. The doctor.”

“And Barbara discovered that by…”

“Breaking into Thompkins’ place, obviously.”

Fish let a long suffering sigh out.

“This business arrangement is going to be very tiring, ain’t it?”

He chuckled, tilting his head towards her.

“You get used to it.”

“Did you tell her not to go after the woman?”

“I seem to remember voicing firm disapproval at the idea of murdering her cat.”

Fish turned to him, trying not to comment on how little sense that sentence made.

“Doesn’t it drive you crazy how she won’t listen to your advice at all?”

“Nah”, he replied, not even thinking about his answer. “I’m used to it.”

She stared at him. Of course he would be. He was very familiar with bosses who did as they pleased.

He caught the look on her face in the mirror.

“It wasn’t a shot at you!”

She raised her eyebrows. He sighed.

“I swear”, he added.

There was a lull in the conversation, and they both turned to their reflections. Butch’s hand hovered on the side of Fish’s neck, making its way up to her shoulder, tracing her scars without touching them. He pursed his lips.

“How bad is the pain?”

She shivered and shrugged.

“Negligible.”

Butch went silent, examining the scars, then caressed her temple. He found it wet with cold sweat.

“Doesn’t look negligible to me, boss.”

She clicked her tongue.

“It’s only when I exert myself. It _is_ negligible when I don’t walk around half Gotham with half a clothing store in my bags.”

There was a flicker of rage on Butch’s face, and the grin tried to resurface, but he collected himself. He wrapped an arm around her, not putting any pressure on her aching scars, and kissed her temple.

“You don’t have to pretend”, she blurted out, nearly slapping herself for it.

She had no idea where those words had come from. Self-doubt was a flaw she did not care to cultivate, and she felt disgusted by her own comment. Sure, she knew her new body did not appeal to him, but he had been making efforts. He had never flat out said he had no feelings left.

Butch looked offended, just like every time she had suggested he might leave her side.

“I’m not _pretending_!”

Fish smiled, teasing. He made a face. She chuckled.

He shook his head, smiling and sighing, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the cutest thing I ever did see”*, he said.

“Oh no, don’t you dare!”

His tone edged a little closer to singing.

“Really love your peaches, want to shake your tree…”*

“Buuutch, not the lyrics!”

“Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time”*, he continued.

She laughed. Of all the songs he could have picked…

He grinned. A nice grin. His hands roamed over her sides, still without pressure.

“Come on baby, and I’ll show you a good time!”*

She pushed him away, gently.

“As enticing as that offer is, not today.”

“Aw.”

“And not before you stop with the lyrics.”

 

###

 

Leslie parked in front of Miagani’s Island police precinct.

Cobblepot, from the passenger seat, frowned and turned to her.

“This is not where I told you to go!” he snapped.

When they had ran from her apartment, to get into her car and speed away, he had been fairly adamant: he wanted to be driven to Tricorner, to some building he was the owner of. It would make a good hideout until his recovery was complete, he had explained. Leslie had not protested.

Miagani was on the way to Tricorner, so the road she had taken had not aroused his suspicion.

“I know”, Leslie replied.

“Then why are you stopping?”

She reached under her coat and pulled her gun out. She had snatched it from the glove compartment at the first opportunity.

“I am going to ask the two of you to kindly get out of the car”, she said.

Miriam grabbed her knife. Cobblepot got his own gun out, and aimed it at Leslie’s face. She stared at him, not backing down.

“You are alone, against the two of us”, he pointed out. “This little rebellion is _really_ a futile endeavor. Do you expect to be able to survive us both?”

Leslie smiled.

“I have cared for you to the best of my abilities, Oswald, which you can consider my thanks for rescuing me from Flass’ men. However, I am not going to be the accomplice to a criminal on the run, and there is no medical reason for me to assist you any longer.”

“A touching speech.”

“Also, you might not have paid attention to the fact that your gun is a six-shots pistol, and that all of those shots ended up in the walls of my apartment about an hour ago.”

He blanched. She gave him a warm smile.

“So, once again, I’m going to ask you to kindly get out of the car”, she said.

The fallen crime lord tensed, gave her a baleful glare, opened his mouth to insult her, but thought better of it.

“Come on, Miriam. Let’s do what Miss Thompkins says.”

The blonde frowned and protested, but Oswald gave her a look midway between pleading and impatience. They opened their respective doors, and got out. Leslie followed them, gun still at the ready, and escorted them to the precinct doors.

In other circumstances, she would have been arrested, but there were some perks to being the GCPD’s M.E.

 

###

 

It took some time for Pennyworth to list every name he could think of. After that, Montoya and her freshly arrived partner still reordered the list according to every suspect’s profile. The violent ones first, the mentally ill with them, the married with children last. Selina had not really listened to their reasoning, unless Bruce chimed in to make suggestions. She could tell Montoya was growing seriously annoyed by his comments, but then again, those were good comments, and Alfred always backed him up. Harvey drank through it and let the others do the analyzing.

When they were finally done, they all walked to the cars, followed by a gloomy Bruce who was still making plans in his mind, from the looks of it. Selina jabbed him in the back.

“Alright”, Bullock exclaimed. “Pennyworth, Allen, Montoya, you go and talk with the people on the list. Me and Little Miss Sunshine will be looking around the other houses for suspicious activity. I don’t look pretty enough in those clothes to go and pay visits to the filthy rich.”

Selina gaped at that. So did everyone else.

“You are _not_ going to take the girl with you to investigate kidnappers!”, the lady cop ranted, which made Cat glare at her.

“Yeah, I am”, Harv’ replied. “If we leave her here, she’ll go on her own, and chances are the other brat will follow.”

“Hey!” Selina protested.

“I’d appreciate if you did not make baseless assumptions about what I intend to do”, Bruce commented, frowning.

Bullock ignored him.

“I don’t know about you”, he told Montoya, “but I’d rather have her where I can see her.”

The woman opened her mouth to retort, but Pennyworth interrupted, with a covert look towards Bruce.

“It sounds to me like the best option. I trust Miss Kyle to keep herself out of danger. I know for a fact she would go to any extent to protect herself”, he said.

Selina went livid. His tone was cold, and he _knew_ something. She turned to Bruce, who fidgeted, looking at his butler not to have to look at her.

She didn’t get to think about what it meant, because Bullock called her to Allen’s car, which was a GCPD vehicle.

“Come on, kiddo, we don’t have all day.”

She joined him, taking her place on the passenger seat.

“So, where are we going?”, she asked, watching Pennyworth lead the two other cops to a black Mercedes. “They start by the first of the list, right? We check the second?”

Bullock snorted, driving away from the mansion.

“Like hell we’re going to follow Montoya’s fancy list”, he said, throwing his quickly scribbled copy of it on Cat’s knees. “She’s not the one who got the idea to talk to Pennyworth. Looks like me like you’re the smart one in this situation.”

“Did you just say something nice?”

“Don’t let it get to your head”, he replied. “I still have plenty of room to talk shit about you.”

“Ass. So what do we do?”

“You had a little holiday at Wayne Manor, right?”

Selina nodded.

“Well”, the detective continued, “what with you being you, I get the feeling that you paid a visit to every other house around. So I’m gonna ask you… You look at that list, and you tell me which ones you couldn’t get in. I hear you’re not shitty at the whole breakin’ and enterin’ thing.”

She stared at him, frowning, not quite sure if she had to be insulted or flattered.

“And I mean you look at it _now_ , princess”, the cop added.

Cat snorted and unfolded the list, reading the names. She knew them all. She had “paid a visit” to those houses, alright, and most of them had been easy enough to get in considering their fancy security systems. Except one.

“The old lady”, she said, holding the sheet of paper next to Harvey’s nose.

“What? Kid, I don’t have my glasses and I’m driving, in case you didn’t notice.”

“The old lady. Crowne. The weird hermit with the son in the tech business. Her house has _crazy_ security. Cameras everywhere, motion sensors, alarms, the works. You can’t get in at all.”

“Or you can’t get out”, Bullock said.

“Or you can’t get out.”

 

####

 

The things that mattered the most were the small ones. Heroism was too costly, too dangerous, and too abstract. At the end of the day, you accomplished the most when you did the best you could within reasonable boundaries. Maybe you didn’t save the world, but you saved something or someone, and with better odds of success. No one else paid for your brashness. You did not litter your way with corpses.

You saved a three years old instead of fighting to avenge him and, in a few moments, you had accomplished more than in a year of war.

You got to watch that kid play with a cat, in the grass, under a sunlight he had never seen.

“Alright”, Jim said, carrying a cooking pot and six plates to the table they had dragged to the closed-in garden (peristylium, as Sophie called it). “I cooked. I figured we might as well have some kind of party. Now, be warned, it was made with the culinary expertise of an army guy turned cop.”

“Oh lord”, Sophie exclaimed. “I don’t want to know.”

He shot her an amused look. She smiled back.

“Alright. I’m curious and not afraid at all”, Scottie said. “What did you make?”

“Uh, pasta. With tomato, uh, sauce.”

Nate frowned. The two women analyzed his answer.

“KETCHUP!” they both shouted.

Jim winced.

“That’s all I found. There’s some meat and onions?”

“Ketchup!” Scottie replied.

“Ketchup”, Sophie repeated.

Nate grinned and grabbed a plate.

“Gimme the bad food. Shawn! Come eat bad food with daddy!”

“Bad food?” the boy replied, puzzled.

“Super good food.”

The child let Fishstick go, trotted to them and climbed on his father’s lap, while Jim served them a generous plate. There was no complaint on their side: they just wolfed the food down, with Shawn enchanted to be allowed to slurp the spaghettis in. For all of her “ketchup” protests, Scottie emptied her plate quickly enough. Sophie was the only one the wrinkle her nose and play with her food. Shawn, of all people, had to tell her to stop being difficult.

Overall, it was a nice evening, a little bit of freedom and disorder in their prison.

It ended early, with Shawn falling asleep in his father’s arms. Jim brought the cooking pot to the kitchen, served a last plate, and made his way to the basement.

David was still locked up in the bedroom, which he could have escaped easily. The windows and doors were not exactly what you would have called sturdy. Instead of trying to get out, he had spent most of his time in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Jim hesitated as he entered the room. David, still laying on the bed, turned to him. He looked mildly curious, and still out of it.

“I brought you food”, the cop said. “Ketchup spaghetti.”

The other man sat up, surprised. He had been brought food before, without appearing that confused, so he had noticed Jim was not just there to bring him a meal.

The cop put the plate down on the nightstand, along with the fork and spoon.

“Thanks?” David said, reaching for the food.

He started eating, cautious, waiting for Jim to talk.

The blonde sat at the end of the bed.

“Can we talk?”

David gave him a deer in headlights look.

“About what?”

“About when we get out of here.”

There was a long silence, with Sirkis staring at him. He put the spaghetti plate back on the nightstand.

“I go to prison, don’t I?”

“I can’t be sure. I’m fairly certain you’ll be going straight for a mental health facility.”

“Oh”, David replied. He shrugged. “Alright.”

It did not seem to matter to him because it did not matter to him. He had not planned to survive Shawn’s drowning. Jim did not think he would let himself live for long on the outside.

“And if you do end up in a mental health facility”, he told David, in his softer voice, “I want you to let them help you.”

The other man went tense, turning away. He bit the inside of his teeth.

Jim took a deep breath.

“There’s someone I know…”, he started.

He stopped there. The words were hard to find, and his throat was clenching.

“There’s someone I know who….”

He took a deep breath.

David turned to him.

Jim tried again.

“I know someone who is doing… Something very similar to what you are doing to yourself right now”, he said.

His fellow prisoner’s eyes focused. He studied Jim’s face. The cop met his eyes.

“My ex-fiancee was kidnapped”, he explained. “By a man who… Well, it was not unlike our situation, except he was pairing women with himself. She spent less than two days with him, but… He did things she did not recover from. He made her do things she did not recover from.”

The words had reached David. He looked like himself again, focused, attentive.

Jim closed his eyes and pursed his lips.

“She has turned into something else. It looks like she does not feel anything anymore. She has crossed lines there is no coming back from by now.” - He opened his eyes, staring into the distance. - “But, you know, when you know someone… And when that someone uses a trick you have used on yourself all your life… You can see it, even when you don’t want to.”

“See what?”

“I think she retreated inside herself. Wrapped it all up, went mean, went cruel. Me, I go angry. I go righteous. But I know that place you go to when you can’t take it anymore. When you pull away to feel nothing.”

David turned away.

Jim put a hand on his shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll give it a try”, he said. “For a few months, for a few years, for as long as you can take it. There’s still hope for you.”

He felt the man shake, and saw him bite the inside of his cheeks.

“Promise me”, the blonde insisted.

David took a shaky breath. Jim squeezed his shoulder.

“Please.”

“I’ll think about it.”

It was the most Gordon could hope for by that point, and he knew it.

“Thank you”, he said.

David did not turn to him.

“I’d like to be alone.”

Jim nodded, standing up, and left. He locked the door of the house and not the bedroom’s, then walked up the street, to the stairs.

He found Selina Kyle waiting for him, sitting on the the railing, just above his head. She looked bored out of her mind. She leaned forward, an eyebrow raised.

“You sure are a hard guy to track down”, she said.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @_@ 3929 words for this one + the end of the previous chapter I wrote this morning. Wasn't that a productive Saturday?
> 
> For the song Butch is quoting: Steve Miller Band - The Joker


	50. Chapter 50

Jim entered the half-empty precinct with Leslie on his arm.

It was eerie. The freshly repainted walls, the empty spaces where desks used to be, the tools and piles of tile where the floor had to be repaired, and the silence. Some of the people who should have been present were on leave, or hospitalized. Some were dead. The bullpen was quiet as a tomb.

Selina and Harvey had freed Jim from Crowne’s basement five days before, and Jim had gone through some counseling to deal with a trauma he did not actually feel. He had been in a hurry to come back to his job, even after his partner had told him everything about Gilzean’s attack on the precinct. He never questioned going back after Zsasz’s raid, nor after the Electrocutioner’s. Not because Debra Paxton’s death, which he had tried to forget about, one foot in front of the other, keep going. There had never been so many casualties, however, and they had not been caused by monsters he had created. _Barbara._ He felt uneasy.

He held Leslie’s arm a little tighter.

People turned to them, nodded to Jim, smiled to Lee.

She kissed him on the cheek.

“I’ll go and catch up with doctor Evans”, she said, squeezing his shoulder and walking away.

Jim sighed and walked up the stairs, removing his coat and dropping it on his chair, at his desk.

As soon as Leslie was out of sight and out of earshot, he was called out.

“Hey!”, Walker said. “Are ya going to do something about that ex of yours, or can we expect another raid this week?”

Jim pursed his lips and ignored the jab, and the next ones.

Sarah was not in her office, so he went to look after Edward instead. He found the scientist in an exam room, unsurprisingly. He was reading a book, leg extended under the table, propped up on a box. Ed had been shot during the assault - a minor injury to the calf - and would not have been available to decipher Jim’s hidden message in the letter he had sent to Leslie, even if the letter had made its way to the precinct. With everyone caught up in hostage situations and violent attacks, it was a miracle Scottie and Jim had been found at all.

Jim cleared his throat.

“Ed?”

The other man perked up, smiling.

“Detective Gordon!”, he greeted, fumbling to get to his feet.

“No, no, don’t st-”

But Nygma was up, by that point.

“I hope you are doing alright”, he said. “I was sent to Margaret Crowne’s house along with the rest of the forensics team, and it seemed like a dreadful place.”

“I’m okay”, the blond replied. “But I’m not here to talk about that.”

“You’re not?” Ed replied with mild disappointment.

Jim fought the urge to pinch his nose. Of course, Edward would be interested in the whole thing.

“No. Harvey’s girlfriend is organizing a little party for him, tomorrow evening. I know it’s short notice, but it would be nice if you could come.”

Nygma blinked.

“I… Are you sure detective Bullock would want me there?”

“Of course not. Harv’ wants no one around until those people are there. He’ll be glad if you come. Might not show it that much, though.”

“Ah. Oh. Well, then I’d be happy to come. Just give me the address and the time. Should I bring something?”

“I… Actually don’t know. I’ll call Scottie. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“Alright.”

The cop turned to the door.

“Oh, _Jim_ ”, Ed said, “Thank you so much for the invitation. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Jim looked at him. He was smiling. It made a world of difference to invite him not as an afterthought, because he seemed down, but because he was wanted. The man was beaming.

“Now that I think of it, _we_ _’ll pick you up_ ”, the cop said, pointing at Ed’s leg. “Right after work, maybe?”

The scientist nodded.

“That sounds very good.”

Jim smiled, waved and left. He found Sarah, then Alvarez, and invited them too. Then he tried to get his hands on Harvey, who was nowhere in sight.

He found it in the locker room with two other cops. Their conversation was none too pleasant.

“- not have happened if you hadn’t played the Jim Gordon”, one of the men was saying. “That kind of bitch, either you let go, either you shoot. Now look what you got us into.”

Bullock did not answer, sipping gin from his flask instead.

Jim walked into the locker room, staring the two patrolmen down.

“Are we having a problem here?” he said.

The men glared at him but shrugged and left. Harvey rolled his eyes.

“I could have handled them.”

“I know. But I wanted to. Ready for the day?”

Jim’s partner gulped down the rest of his flask.

“As ever.”

 

###

 

“Are you alright?” Giulia asked Carmine, not for the first time that week, and not even for the first time that morning.

He was growing more and wore withdrawn as the day passed. Paler, too, and distracted. Maroni assumed it was his health: the man had gone to a private clinic uptown, for some exams. A fair amount of spying, bribing and coercion had revealed those exams had been brain imagery and blood tests.

She was growing concerned.

Of course, ultimately, his health failing would have been good news. With Cobblepot behind bars, Giulia had little reason to continue working with him. He was useful to some extent, to smooth the edges with some of his old lieutenants, but he was not critical to her operations. Her capos had mostly stopped complaining about the old man’s presence, but it did not mean they enjoyed it. She would earn quite a few points by breaking the alliance off. That being said, there was no hurry. She could wait for Falcone to take his leave, which would not take long if he had health issues that could paint him as weak.

Really, Falcone was no longer a threat. The newcomer she worried about was Gilzean.

“Did you hear the news?” she asked after Carmine assured her that he was just fine.

“I hear a lot of them, my dear. I assume you are talking about Butch Gilzean attempting to take over the Theater district?”

She nodded.

“He was subtle about it. He had paid off a dozen of my men before an informant called Cristiano. He is doing some cleanup right now.”

Carmine went the window, looking outside.

“He seems to have full access to Barbara Kean’s funds. He will try that again.”

“I know he will”, Giulia replied. “It’s not like the place does not have sentimental value for him. He’ll try until he gets the club back. What actually surprises me is that he went about it the bribing way, and not the guns blazing way.”

“That will come.”

She sighed. She had made sure the security around the district was reinforced, in the event of a full blown assault, but those were resources that would be needed elsewhere quickly enough. There was always a more pressing danger.

“What grates me is that I have the entire city looking after him and his maniac of a girlfriend, but that he vanishes in a few minutes each time he is spotted. We need to take him out, but none of our men would go against him and his team of bodyguards alone. Sure, a shot to the head is easily accomplished, but no one wants to be killed for it.”

“I’d be cautious if I were you. We have seen what happened when Kean was captured, and how she reacted to Cobblepot giving Gilzean to Zsasz. If you don’t get them both at once, there will be hell to pay.”

“Or we can take one down, face the backlash, and hope to get a shot at the other when he strikes back”, she said. “It could very well be our only option. They are never seen together anymore.”

“It’s up to see if it’s an acceptable sacrifice”, Carmine replied.

“We might have a lead on Kean”, Giulia announced. “Her gallery was purchased four days ago, and is reopening in two days. The new owner lost no time.”

“What do you have on him?”

“Her. Bianca Steeplechase. The bastard daughter of a recently dead millionaire from the East Coast. Seems like she inherited a small fortune and is now ‘pursuing her passion’. Her background checks out, as far as we can tell, but we are still digging.”

“Does she have friends on the West Coast? Was she ever in the news? It’s not very hard for a background that flimsy to check out.”

Giulia let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Carmine, I swear, it’s because I know you by now that I can tell you don’t _mean_ to be condescending, but I still get the feeling you believe I’m addled.”

He turned to her but did not comment. She knew from the look on his face that he was mildly apologetic. It was better than nothing.

“Do you plan to go to that gallery opening?” he asked.

“Not without a small army, which I feel would ruin the mood. I’ll send a spy. That will be enough.”

Falcone nodded.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. Since Leslie Thompkins was nice enough to arrest Penguin, what are you planning to do with his mother?”

“I’ll keep her for a little while. See if he escapes from Blackgate, or lawyer his way out. But, sincerely, I might not be that patient. They put him in solitary confinement for his own protection, but they can’t keep him there forever. I’ll probably arrange for him to be disposed of, and let the woman go. I have no use for her.”

Falcone studied her face.

“You might _actually_ be what the city needs, Giulia. You remind me of a younger me.”

She clicked her tongue.

“See, Carmine, this has always been your greatest flaw. Hubris.”

 

###

 

Dulmacher’s clinic had turned out to be a fantastic hideout, once cleaned up and repainted a little. They had ample room, quiet, and secrecy. With Maroni’s men on the lookout for both Kean and Butch, Fish and her two partners had agreed that an island was a little safer than squatted loft, especially since helicopters were much harder to tail than cars. They traveled to Gotham for a few hours every day, and retreated to their hideout when their business was done. It gave them relative safety until they could grab some territory for themselves.

As large as the place was, Fish still found herself in the same room as Barbara entirely too often. There was something about the mansion that made you want tot to be alone.

Fish avoided to get withing arm’s reach, but tolerated the blonde well enough, despite her constant fidgeting. That morning, Barbara was balancing on two legs of her chair, one knee pushed under the table, and was polishing her nails. She did not look at Butch, despite being in the middle of some business negotiations.

“I get to keep Willy”, Barbara said. “He likes me the best and, anyway, I need him.”

“Why would you get to keep Willy?”, Butch retorted, incredulous. “I hired him. I need him too, you know?”

“You can hire other people, and I need him _now._ You can have Pat. And Malcom. Is that okay?”

“Not if you have a dozen of my men prepare something you won’t even tell me about, when you know full well I want to prepare an attack on the Theater District!”

“Come on! This is my endgame”, Barbara whined. “Once I’m done with Jim, you can get everyone back. For a while, anyway.”

Butch sighed. Fish - who was wiser - did not comment.

“This is not going to blow up in our faces, is it?” he asked.

Barbara bit her lower lip and tilted her head left and right.

“It does involve explosives.”

“Do you plan to blow up our men? Just so I’m warned before it happens?”

“No, no, our men should be okay.”

Butch gave her a pointed look.

“Make that a ‘will’.”

“I’ll see what I can do. SO. You get Pat and Malcom. I keep Garfield. I recruited him. I like him. And I’ll need Reno too.”

“No, no, no. I get Reno.”

Fish sighed.

“Are the two of you aware that you sound like you are drawing up the terms of a divorce?”

They both went silent.

It didn’t last.

“Fish is taking men too and you don’t complain about it!” Barbara exclaimed, crossing her arms.

“Because Fish does not take enough men to invade a small country without telling me _why_.”

“I told you! ENDGAME.”

“That is _not_ a valid explanation.”

“Her explanation is also ‘endgame’!”

Fish clicked her tongue and focused on the art history book she was attempting to study.

“My endgame is getting Carmine to question his sanity”, she reminded Kean. “No explosives required.”

“Is it working, by the way?” The blonde asked.

“Stellarly. He went and got himself a brain scan.”

“I’ll have to learn to do that”, Barbara mumbled. “I’m having vast difficulties with messing with people’s minds.”

Butch choked. Fish stared in disbelief.

“Anyway!”, their lunatic of a partner exclaimed. “I have things to do and people to see. Going back to Gotham.”

She bounced to the exit.

“I’m taking the chopper. _And_ Willy”, she added, running off.

Butch jumped to his feet and tried to run after her.

“Barbara, for fuck’s sake!”

 

###

 

“Before we go back to the mansion”, Bruce asked as Alfred drove away from his school, “could we visit Lucius Fox? I assume you know where he lives?”

“Any reason why we should surprise the poor man after his work hours, Master Bruce?”

“I’d like to discuss some of the projects of Wayne Enterprises R&D department.”

“Oh. Not a matter of life and death, then?”

Bruce frowned at Alfred’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

“Of course it is not.”

“Then, Master Bruce, I suggest we go back home and call Mister Fox to discuss a future appointment. Is it, after all, the polite thing to do.”

There was no arguing against that. Well, there was, but Bruce knew when to pick his battles.

“ _Fine_ ”, he snapped, pulling a binder out of his school bag.

He opened the binder and flipped through the pages to get the quarterly reports he had printed out, and focused on financial statements and balance sheets for the rest of the drive. Some departments seemed overfunded, and he wanted to figure out why.

He was highlighting some suspicious numbers when a car crashed into the driver side of their Mercedes. It went spinning, airbags exploding. The first thing Bruce noticed when the car stilled was blood. Alfred appeared unconscious, and he was bleeding from his nose and forehead.

Bruce felt like the world had been removed from under his feet all over again. He heard himself scream Alfred’s name.

The car door opened and a shotgun was pressed to his face. The masked man who held the gun undid his security belt and dragged him out of the car. All Bruce could do was kick and scream, and even that was useless. He was thrown to the ground, at the floor of a woman he nearly did not recognized. When he had met Barbara Kean, she had been wearing an elegant black dress and high heels, not a baseball hoodie, torn up jeans, and sneakers. Her hair had not been a mess of loose curls. Even on her pictures on the news, she looked refined and sullen. Here, she was smiling.

“Hi, sweetie”, she told him. “I’m so _sorry_ things have to come to this, but unfortunately, Jim really likes you.”

 

###

 

Scottie was very satisfied. The evening was going well. Harvey’s grumbling about having so many people around had been minimal. Everyone was having a good time. Jim had not been allowed to cook. There was no ketchup (except for the boys and their burgers). Ed did seem a little awkward, but he seemed very happy to be included, as if it was a pleasant surprise. Scottie did not know him at all, but she had a feeling being included did not often happen to him. She did her best to talk to him, even if the topic tended to veer towards criminal science, with Leslie chiming in. The others discussed police work too, or police politics, like who would become the new commissioner now that Loeb had vanished. Apparently, Leslie had arrested the man’s daughter, and he had been filmed getting her out of her holding cell in the middle of the night.

There had been some good natured arguing from Harvey about one of the guests.

“What is the brat doing here?” he had said when he had seen Selina Kyle sitting at the table.

“Scottie invited me”, the girl had replied.

He had tried to find a retort, failed, and found other grievances.

“Stop feeding the cat scraps, you’ll teach it to beg”, he had mumbled.

Scottie was more or less sure he had not meant that remark for the teenager.

The two of them kept bickering, which made for some variety after all the bickering with Jim. You tuned it out anyway. The important thing was that they got along, albeit weirdly.

“So, what’s the surprise for Harvey Jim told me about?” Sarah asked Scottie at the end of the meal, as they carried empty plates to the kitchen.

The redhead grinned.

“I think it’s about time we see that! Can you call Jim and Leslie? Discretely?”

Sarah did, and Scottie and her two accomplices went to get the wrapped up boxes of records from the attic. They walked into the living room together, and handed the gifts to a confused Harvey. His confusion turned to glee easily enough, and he unwrapped the boxes with childish joy.

“Holy hell”, he said after opening the first one.

He pulled a record out. Led Zeppelin, Physical Graffiti.

“Holy hell.”

He look at another sleeve, and another, and another, then grabbed the second box and tore the wrapping paper away. He looked up in disbelief.

Scottie grinned.

“We-”

“Scottie’s idea!” Leslie and Jim interrupted.

Harvey stared at the three of them.

“That’s…”

“Three hundred forty-six records”, Jim said. “You know which ones.”

He tilted his head towards Scottie, twice.

She blushed. Harvey carefully placed the box on the table, stood up, walked to her, and kissed her silly. She vaguely heard chuckles and a “get a room!” from Selina. The kiss went on for a little while.

When Harvey finally took a step back, he turned to Jim and Leslie.

“You. And you. Thanks.”

“Nah, don’t mention it”, Jim replied, grinning.

“Glad we could help”, Leslie said, smiling too.

There was some talking in the background, with Edward, Sarah and Carlos sounding very impressed. Scottie caught a “If he lets that one go, I…”, from the captain.

The redhead also noticed that Selina was making good use of everyone’s distraction, and was stuffing her pockets with food. Scottie could envision a long discussion with Harvey and Jim about the girl’s living situation.

They all returned to the table for coffee, with Harvey ignoring everyone and browsing through the boxes, looking at every single record sleeve.

Jim had to leave the table at some point to answer his phone, and they all looked at him with growing concern as his call went on.

“Yes, I know him. Yes. Which hospital? Alright, I’ll arrive as soon as I can.”

He turned to them, and saw them staring at him.

“Alfred Pennyworth was in a car crash, hit and run. No severe injuries, but he was on the road to Wayne Manor, and it looks like several hours went by before he was found. Right now, he is unconscious, and the hospital found my business card.”

“They called Bruce?” Selina asked.

“I suppose they will, if they have not yet”, the blond replied. “I’ll ask when I get to Gotham General.”

The girl sighed.

“I’ll go check on him”, she said. “Someone gimme fifty bucks for a taxi?”

Scottie took a few bills from her wallet, aware that a taxi to Wayne Manor would not cost nearly that much. It meant that the rest of the money would go towards food and and other supplies.

Jim frowned.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go al-”

“Think I should bring Bullock to comfort a poor little orphan?”, Selina asked.

“You know what? I’ll be the taxi”, Scottie offered before the conversation turned sour. “I’ll drive you there. Then I can drive Bruce Wayne to the hospital, if necessary.”

She could see Leslie had been about to offer.

Harvey frowned. Jim mulled over it, then nodded.

“I’ll just go now. Lee, I’ll pick you up later, if it’s okay?” - He then remembered Ed’s presence. - “Er, I don’t know if you can wait, or-”

“I’ll drive Ed home”, Sarah cut in. “It’s on my way.”

Jim acquiesced and left.

“Alright. Leslie, road trip to Wayne Manor”, Harvey announced. “I’m not letting the brat and Scottie go alone.”

Scottie grew uneasy, seeing how the frown had not left his face. Leslie nodded, looking slightly concerned herself.

In the end, everyone left at the same time. Scottie climbed into her car with Harvey, Selina, and Lee, letting her boyfriend take the wheel.

He seemed tenser by the second. After ten minutes on the road, he looked at Selina in the rear view mirror.

“See what I see?”

“Yeah, we’re being tailed”, she said.

He turned the car’s headlights off and sped away.

Unfortunately for all of them, the truck blocking the road a mile farther had done the exact same thing.

 

###


	51. Chapter 51

Jim entered Alfred Pennyworth’s hospital room and was unsurprised to find the man tearing his IV out and trying to get out of bed.

There was a moment of silent surprise when the butler looked to Jim and recognized him, then he all but ran across the room.

“Is Bruce alright?” he asked.

The cop blanched, pulling his phone out while he replied to Pennyworth.

“He was in the car”, he said, scrolling through his contacts until he found Sarah’s number.

He dialed, pressing the phone against his ear.

“Of course he was”, Alfred snapped. “You mean he was not found with me?”

“Captain, it was not a car accident”, Jim said as soon as he heard Sarah’s voice. “Chances are Bruce Wayne was kidnapped. We need MPU on the crash location _right now_.”

 

###

 

Miriam looked around as her father helped her out of the car. They were in the countryside, in a nice place with high trees and grass that smelled like flowers. She could not see much in the moonlight, and there were no lampposts, but the house was small and cozy, with flowerbeds on each side of the door.

Her father went and rang the doorbell.

A woman with the most housewivey dress Miriam had ever seen opened the door, and invited them in.

The inside of the house was cozy too. It smelled of apple pie. There were plaids on the armchairs. All the furniture was old, sculpted wood.

“Sorry for arriving so late at night”, her father told the woman. “This is Miriam.”

Miriam smiled to the housewife, with the polite smile her mother had taught her.

“Pleased to meet you”, she said.

“Pleased to meet you too”, the woman replied. “I’m Eileen. I will be taking care of you from now on.”

Miriam blinked, memories of her little room in the attic flooding in.

“Taking… Care of me?”

Her father nodded.

“You need a quiet, discreet place, where no one can find you for a little while, do you understand? It is so you can stay safe.”

_Just like when I made Mother sing._

“I do?”

“Yes, Miriam. Yes. People are going to be very angry at you because you helped Oswald. Me, I know good people make mistakes sometimes, so I want you to hide until it is all forgotten.”

_Just. Like. With. Mother._

“I will be allowed outside, won’t I?”

“I… I’m not sure it would be wise, Miriam. It is better if you stay inside for the time being. But I will visit. I will visit every day.”

She looked at Eileen, who listened to them with quiet concern.

_Not sure it would be wise._

Miriam let rage wash over her, tore a mirror from the wall next to her , and smashed it over her father’s head. Then she did it over and over again.

“I’m not going back to an attic”, she shouted. “I’m not going back to an attic! _I_ _’m not going back to an attic!_ ”

When Eileen tried to pull her away, Miriam stabbed her throat with a mirror shard.

She would never go back to an attic.

 

###

 

Bruce kept his back straight and his chin high, even if he was locked up in a cage, next to ten empty cages, in a warehouse filled with criminals. Even if he was terrified.

Barbara Kean was sitting on the top of the cage facing his, legs dangling, eating a chocolate bar.

“What do you want from me?”

She bit into her chocolate bar and chewed for a moment, thoughtful.

“I want nothing from you, Bruce. It’s just that you have to die, you know. For educational purposes. For Jim.”

Bruce frowned.

“I’m afraid I don’t see what he could learn from my death.”

The woman dropped to the floor and walked closer to his cell’s bars. She fished another chocolate bar out of her pocket and held it out.

“No, thanks”, the boy replied.

“Come on, Bruce! Be our hero. Cover yourself in chocolate glory!”*

He took a step back, confused, and even more scared than before. There was something wrong with the woman, something that got under your skin and made you want to run.

“Could we go back to the topic at hand?”

She blinked.

“How my being murdered could teach him something.”

She smiled, nearly tender, which was worse because her eyes were empty.

“You are important to him”, she explained. “I’d go as far as to say that no one is more important than you. You see, Jim is a man who cannot really love or care about people. Its not his fault. He thinks he does, he is _sincerely convinced_. But loving is something he does not understand. Not yet.”

“I don’t think that’s right”, Bruce said, voice ever so slightly trembling.

He could not show fear. He could not. He could no longer stand by and do nothing in the face of danger. Once had been enough.

“You’re sweet”, she cooed. “But you don’t know him like I do.”

“He is a good man.”

“That doesn’t mean he can love, Brucie.”

She was convinced, and she was insane, so Bruce let it go until he could find an argument she could not ignore.

“So why _me_?” he asked again.

“Because he made you a promise.”

Bruce took another step back, despite his firm intention to stand his ground. His lower lip quivered.

“I-I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“I could kill his girlfriend”, she said, “but it would not matter. He would feel very, very bad, but Jim soldiers on. Puts it all in a box. I could kill his partner, and it would be the same. Feelings, box, to the back of his mind. But you? You, dearie, he made a promise to. The most important promise of his entire life. It defines him. And if you die before he can keep it, he will break, and he will learn, because that promise makes you the most important person to him. And he will care, because he felt a kinship for you he never felt for anyone else.”

Bruce stared at her.

“That’s not true at all!”

She circled the cage to reach through the bars and tousle his hair.

“You are a cutie.”

He jumped away. She shrugged, returning to her perch on the other cage.

“Is Alfred alive?” he asked.

“Mh? Oh, your butler? He’s alright. I hear he’s out of the hospital by now.”

Bruce would have felt relieved, but found out he was unable to trust her words. He pursed his lips.

The warehouse door opened, ending the conversation. Some armed men entered, pushing some prisoners with bags over their heads.

Barbara Kean jumped to her feet, standing on the cage, and raised a fist in victory.

“We never thought it was possible!” she clamored, whirling on herself, then jumping to the floor to get closer to the captives. “But here it is coming true: we can have our cake and eat it tooce!”*

She pulled the bag from over one of the women’s head, then rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Why did you even bother with the ginger?”

The red haired woman tried to free herself, but a thug held her firmly, and her hands were tied behind her back. She stumbled and had to be kept upright. She was gagged, too, as far as Bruce could see.

“We got them all at once, boss”, one of the gangsters replied. “Abduct three, get one for free?”

Kean laughed and laughed and laughed, then went very silent.

“Funny”, she said in a cold and disapproving voice.

Then she tore the bag away from the second woman’s head.

“Hi Lee! It’s been a while!” the blonde exclaimed.

The woman tried to kick her. That was detective Gordon’s girlfriend, Bruce realized. The male prisoner was maybe his partner, then. There was also a teenage girl.

He looked at her clothes. He did not need the bag removed to know who she was.

“SELINA!”

She jumped, startled.

“Oh, right”, Barbara Kean said, removing the bag from Cat’s head. “Sorry it has to come to this. Jim is fond of you. I’m so sorry. I know it’s not your fault. But if I have to kill everyone he is attached to, then I have to kill _everyone_ he is attached to.”

“Mmhhnnneee”, Selina snapped back.

“Wah, wah, wah. Put them in the cages. Dancing With The Stars is on, I think. I’ll be back later.”

 

###

 

Leslie had no idea how long they had spent in their cages, waiting. She thought it was around noon. They had been fed. The children had slept, or slumbered, wrapped around each other. For those few hours, Scottie and Harvey and her had kept silent, not to wake them.

Lee had learned that not everyone could be found. Her fingertip tingled, but was still gone. Jim could not always arrive in time. She felt blank.

Harvey and Scottie were sitting on the floor of their cells and holding hands through the bars, but they looked away from each other, both of them grim.

“Dancing With The Stars” seemed to be a fascinating, days long TV program. Barbara only came back after their second meal.

“I’m sorry”, she said, standing between their cages. “I hope you are not too bored?”

“I could use a TV”, Selina replied. “And I really liked your penthouse better. It had a bathroom.”

“I’m sorry, Selina. I wish I could offer you better accommodations, but then again, this is only temporary. You see, there was a _little_ delay with some construction materials, so the main attraction is not quite ready yet. It should be soon. Then you’ll be moved, and I’ll call Jim, and he’ll attempt to save your lives. You know, basic stuff.”

She got no other reaction than gloomy silence, which made her furious. She was histrionic. She _needed_ a reaction.

“Soooo, Leeeee”, she sing-sang, pressing herself against the bars of Leslie’s cell. “I just want you to know that, once you are dead, and Jim starts getting better, I’ll have to kill your cat. As a reminder.”

Leslie was _so_ exhausted. Abduction and torture and mutilation, then Jim going missing, then Cobblepot keeping her prisoner in her home, and now that.

“What are you _doing_ to yourself?” she asked, looking up to Barbara from the corner of the cell she was sitting on.

The blonde frowned, wrinkling her nose.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me about your parents. How they tried to change you. How they _slowly, steadily_ ground away at your soul. So _why_ are you doing the same thing to yourself?”

Barbara chuckled.

“It’s not nearly the same?”

“Really? Because what I see here, Barbara, is how you are so set on methodically, absolutely erasing yourself.”

Anger flared on the blonde’s face, but she composed herself, and grinned.

“But… We’re never gonna survive unless we get a little _crazy_ ”*, she replied.

 

###

 

Jim had spent two days pacing in the bullpen, with his phone charging on his desk, napping on his chair, waiting for news, any news.

Two days.

Alfred Pennyworth had spent most of that time pacing in front of the GCPD, since Sarah had tried to send him home to get some rest. The man walked from the MPU’s floor to the homicide unit a dozen times a day, and was not about to sleep before Bruce was found. That was clear.

It still took two days for Barbara to call.

“Hello, darling”, she said.

“Where are they?” he snapped. “What have you done with them?”

“Nothing yet, Jim. It’s all up to you. You need to come and see.”

“Where are you?”

“The abandoned train station over Finger River”, she told him. “The one they closed because of structural damage to the bridge. Come by the southern entrance, we walled the other up.”

“I’ll-”

“And come _alone_. This is between you and I, as you often remind me.”

She hung up.

He ran into Sarah’s office and asked for ambulances and patrol cars around the train station.

 

###

 

As it turned out, Barbara had meant that “come alone”.

The patrol cars had been kept away by a few warning shots from rocket launchers.

Pennyworth, who had managed to follow the police to the train station, had tried to ignore Jim and Sarah’s vehement advice not to try to get closer, and had been shot in the leg. He had tried the stealthy, special forces method, but there had been guards in the station’s maintenance tunnels, which he had not expected. He had managed to drag himself out of said tunnels before bleeding out, but was now being patched up by the EMTs.

Jim did not bother trying stealth. He just followed the pink arrows painted over the station’s stairs, walls, and bombs. There were explosives everywhere, taped to the floor and pillars, connected by dozens of cables. If it all blew up, the entire station would be at the bottom of the river in less than a minute.

The cop tried not to think about it, trying to remain calm for the imminent confrontation.

He entered the main hallway, gun at the ready. Barbara was waiting for him at the opposite end, a gun pointed to Bruce Wayne’s head, who was standing next to her.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “I think, Brucie, we have a guest! Jim, this is indeed an _unparalleled_ delight”*

Behind her, up some more stairs, there was a control room, with a window through which Jim could see Leslie, Selina, Harvey and Scottie, tied up with explosives all around them.

He took a deep breath, walking closer, his weapon pointed at her legs.

“Please let the boy go. I came”, he said, quietly.

Barbara rolled her eyes.

“Willy, go tie up the kid with the others. Sorry, Brucie. Nothing personal.”

Her henchman - the only one present, and Jim had failed to notice him - took Bruce by the arm and dragged him upstairs.

Barbara took a few steps toward Jim.

“You look well”, she said.

He stared at her, feeling empty. Her clothes were different, her hair was different, her makeup was different, but the only thing that made her someone else was the look on her face. The grin. The eyes.

“You look changed”, he replied. “I’m not sure you look well.”

“You know, I was just being polite. You could have returned the favor.”

Jim closed his eyes for a moment.

“The person you are making of yourself, you know… You should stop that. It’s…”

“It’s _great_ ”, she told him. “Don’t you know that I’m still standing, better than I ever did? Looking like a true survivor?”*

“Feeling like a little kid?”*

She frowned, then shook her head. The cruel grin came back.

“Have you come to save them all, James? Because I seem to remember you’re not so good at that.”

Jim did not answer, hoping to reach a point of the conversation where he could say something meaningful.

She put her hand in her pocket and pulled some kind of crude remote out. She pressed the only button. Jim jumped to stop her, and froze when he realized she was not letting go of it.

_A dead man_ _’s switch._

She laughed.

“So, detective Gordon? Are you going to be the hero of the day? Charge ahead, and trample everything on your way?”

“I don’t want to be a hero”, he told her. “I just want to talk.”

“Well, let’s talk, then. Your turn!”

“Is this still about seeing me be alone to the end of my days?” he asked. “Is that why you are doing this?”

She took a deep breath and started pacing.

“Not anymore. I grew concerned for you, you know? I keep observing you, and I know all about you… Your dreams, your plans, and what your want to be. Who you are supposed to be, too.”

He turned, keeping his gun pointed at her thigh.

“That’s true.”

“And you are not who you are supposed to be at all, Jim”, she said, looking at him. “It’s a shame. You really want to be a good man. But it’s like you have lost track of yourself.”

She studied his face, waiting for him to deny it. He closed his eyes again, then nodded.

“You are right.”

She looked surprised.

“You are right”, he repeated, crouching, and putting his weapon on the floor. “I lost myself along the way. I closed up, and I stopped seeing what I was fighting for. I just saw the goal, and the enemies.”

He stood. She stared at him, transfixed. He kicked his gun away and put his hands in his pockets.

“It’s time we really talk, don’t you think?”

She took a step back.

He sighed.

“I… I tried so hard to hate you. It’s how I work, you know? Anger keeps me going. You put a foot in front of the other, you keep moving, you don’t look back.”

She still did not answer. He could see his words had an effect, that they were touching something in her she was trying to keep in.

“You build a wall around yourself until the pain stops dragging you down”, he continued, meeting her eyes. “But it is not a very nice thing to do to yourself. If you keep everything weak and painful inside, then… You’re not the person you should be.”

Barbara clenched her teeth.

Jim did not look away.

“Just like you are doing to yourself. We’re the same, you and I. We were never very good at being ourselves. We never liked to.”

“Blah, blah, blah. It’s a very nice theory, and I really think you should talk to a therapist about that.”

“Please drop the walls for just a moment so I can talk to _you_.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Do you miss your perfect, supportive doormat of a girlfriend? Do you want her back?” - Her face grew concerned and innocent. - “Oh, James, whatever happened to you?”

He looked back at their years together, all the lies, all the secrets, and that perfect facade. He had been a brave soldier, she had been a refined socialite. Never a swear, never a tear. Compromises and behaviors straight out of relationship advice books. They had both wanted to believe in it.

“We have deluded yourself a lot, haven’t we? Both pretending to be better than who we were. Hi. I’m Jim. I’m an ass and I’m a soldier. And you are Barbara, and you are no perfect doll.”

“STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT, _STOP IT_ ”, she screamed, her voice going shriller and shriller.

She resumed pacing, circling him, until she was right between him and the exit. She smirked.

“I’m actually surprised you would believe something that silly, you know? Building a wall to keep the pain in!” - She giggled. - “I’m just _finally_ being myself. You don’t have to look for sappy explanations to make you feel better.”

He shook his head, softly.

“I know you. And I sincerely think it would be better for you to be yourself, instead of turning yourself into a monster to protect yourself.”

She took looked at her gun, grinning, and pressed it against her own temple.

Jim’s blood turned to ice.

“Oh, _please_ ”, Barbara snapped. “Be myself. _Be myself_? It would be _better?_ Have you any idea of how stupid the whole notion is?” - She snorted. - “Whiny little Barbara, sweet little Barbara, pretty little Barbara, who only existed to be neglected, and abducted, and tortured. Barbara the little girl, afraid of the monsters over her bed. Who in their right mind would go back to THAT?”

“Barb’. Barb’, please, don’t-”

“You say not to turn into a monster? Well, let me tell you, it is much easier being the monster than the prey.”

He tried to reach for her, for her hands, both the one with the remote and the one with the gun. She jumped back.

“And you come and ask me _that_?”, she said, eyes wet, jaw clenched. “You who have been a monster from the very beginning? Stronger, harder, and impervious to fear and pain? You _dare_ to tell me to just be _myself?_ ”

He held his hands up, taking a step forward, as slowly as he could. She took a step backwards.

“Well, Jim, I’d rather be a monster to the end.”

She shot herself, head tilting to the left with a splatter of blood. The remote fell to the ground. The control room exploded.

Then, so did everything else.

 

####

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it before Knock Knock aired! YES! 
> 
> Barbara's songs:  
> \- Bruce, from Matilda, the musical  
> \- Crazy, by Seal  
> \- Down once more, from the Phantom of the Opera  
> \- I'm still standing, by Elton John
> 
> I've been informed that this is a shitty ending already (next chapter being the epilogue. At least it's supposed to be).


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, this one is not the epilogue, I had a little too much content before the actual epilogue start.  
> The NEXT chapter will be the actual epilogue.
> 
> 100% sure.

Fish had been enjoying a quiet, if boring day, documenting herself about her new line of business. She had an entire collection of art history books to study, and was making swift progress. She had to admit there was something to learn from famous artists, who were the largest band of crooks and scammers she had ever heard of. In no other profession had someone managed to pack their shit in a can and to sell it.

She had been learning about Bouguereau when Barbara had called.

“Hiiiiiiii”, she had said in a mildly embarrassed tone.

Fish was entirely too aware of what that meant. She had put the phone on speaker so Butch could listen in.

“What. Have. You. Done?” she had asked.

“Er... You know when you told me Harvey Bullock was off limits and that I was to leave him alone?”

“I do.”

“Well, I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

“What have you done, Barbara?”

“He’s fine! He’ll be fine! Well, he should be fine. He might need a little help, though. How far are you from Finger River Station?”

There had been a briefing, and a phone had been thrown against the wall.

“This”, Fish had told Butch. “This is what you get when you work with lunatics.”

So, instead of spending a quietly boring afternoon, Fish was now jogging in the maintenance tunnels of an abandoned station packed to the brim with explosives, with a hood on her head, following Butch and Barbara’s favorite little henchman. Thankfully, the tunnels themselves were free of bombs, as Kean’s men had requested some way to save their on hides. Fish glared at the teenage brat Barbara had tasked with what he called “pyrotechnics”, and who was the only person to know the safe way in and out of the station.

“I swear, Gary, if you don’t get us there in time…”

She had to shut up because she could barely breathe - she would have to cross ‘running’ off the list of her future physical activities - but the teenager did not notice her exhaustion and pain.

“It’s Garfield, boss.”

“I swear if you don’t get us there in time, your name will not be a concern because nobody will ever use it again.”

“It’s just up the stairs, Miss.”

By up the stairs, he meant “four floors up”, but they did end up directly in front of the control room. They rushed in.

They found Barbara’s five hostages gagged and tied to chairs, two more than mentioned in the crazy idiot’s phone call, one of those two being Bruce Wayne. They all moaned and tried to move, except for Harvey, who recognized Butch and cringed.

Fish went straight to the cop, sawing through the ropes around his wrists with a hunting knife. She tore the gag off his mouth.

“Have another of those?” he asked, looking not at her eyes but at her knife.

She handed him her spare. He cutting through the duct tape that glued his ankles to his seat.

Out of the room’s windows, Fish could see the station’s hallway, where Barbara was facing Jim Gordon. She had spotted them, because she was pacing, but in a way that forced the cop to turn his back to the control room.

“So glad you found yourself a new girlfriend”, she heard Selina say.

She turned to the girl, whom Butch was freeing, and who was looking at him with a little more spite than the situation allowed. You did not piss off the people who were saving your ass.

“Now is not the time for smartassery, kiddo”, he replied. “Here’s a pocket knife, go and make yourself useful.”

He let the girl handle the rest of her restraints, walking to Leslie Thompkins, who was closer to the window. Harvey was helping the redhead that had to be his girlfriend. Fish and Selina freed Bruce Wayne. Garfield was hovering by the door, ready to run.

“What the hell is she doing?” Butch muttered in a quiet voice, looking to the hallway instead of helping Thompkins.

He stared out for a moment more.

“Fuck. Run. Run. _Everyone run!_ ”

Fish pushed the children out. Harvey and the redhead went to help Gordon’s girlfriend, but the cop saw the look on Butch’s face, grabbed her chair, and dragged it out of the room. They raced down the stairs, except for Mullens and Harvey, who were carrying Thompkins down. They dropped the chair once at the bottom of the staircase, and Harvey returned to dragging it, which was much easier.

They were at most thirty feet away from the stairs when the control room exploded. There was a burst of flame on that floor, that lit the stairs a vivid orange. The ceiling of the maintenance tunnel shook, and dust and dirt rained on them. Leslie screamed under her gag, and sobbed, and screamed some more. They could still hear explosions and rumbling.

Garfield looked up at the moving orange lights with an awed expression.

Fish slashed through Thompkins’ restraints, her patience running thin.

“Stop gawking, all of you!”, she said. “GO.”

Selina was the first to react, pushing Bruce away from the stairs, but she turned to Fish as she did. Their eyes met, green on one side and mismatched on the other, and the girl froze in disbelief. The shock did not stop her from racing after the Wayne boy.

 

###

 

They all stood on the side of the river, at a safe distance away from the crumbling station. It was falling apart by blocks, walls falling into the water, the entire bridge twisting and breaking into parts weirdly held together by cables and beams.

Selina stared.

Jim was still in there. They all knew Jim was still in there. Leslie was hysterical. Harvey was holding her shoulder, looking at the collapsing building, grim. Scottie had grabbed Leslie’s hand. Bruce was swallowing his broken expression as he looked at the bridge, and made himself all closed up and cold. As for Gilzean and that hooded woman who had Fish’s eyes, they were walking away while everyone was distracted. Fish was probably just there for Harv’ and Cat herself, so her job was done.

The crazy little thug that had worked with Barbara did not seem to want to leave, though. He was grinning, watching the station fall to pieces and burn.

Selina punched him in the face.

“WHAT WAS HER WAY OUT?” she screamed.

The bastard just chuckled.

“Way out?”

Cat kicked him in the balls.

“Let me ask again.”

He coughed and moaned.

Harvey grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up into the air.

“What was the bitch’s way out?” he asked too, his voice deeper and darker and much more convincing than Selina’s yells.

“The main door”, the young man blurted out. “The main stairs, the way Gordon got in.”

Bullock threw him to the floor and turned to the station. Everyone did. Selina was better than them all at spotting things. She had good eyes. She found the main stairs - all mangled, broken, upturned - easily enough. And then the door. And then Jim, who was trying to jump from the open doors to the closest steps.

She started running.

 

###

 

Jim looked around, dazed, distraught, half deaf. The floor was swaying under his feet. The walls were crumbling. The metallic railings of the stairs were twisting and snapping like matchsticks. He did not see a way down.

Some parts of the stairs were still standing, but swaying wildly. He jumped on the closest platform, and slipped down the steps, with nothing to grab to keep himself from falling. He crashed much lower, on a crumbling landing still painted with pink arrows. He remained on all fours, looking around for a safe way down.

He heard his name, or thought he did. His ears were ringing, and every other sound was dulled.

“Jim!” he heard again. “JIM. JIM. THIS WAY.”

He turned to the origin of the voice and saw Selina Kyle, perched on a swaying railing that was no longer attached to stair steps, and only remained connected to a wall by a few bolts.

“There’s a landing right under you”, she screamed, gesturing. “You need to hang from the ledge! Hang from the ledge! I’ll catch you!”

And she jumped down, vanishing under the platform. He tried to look, and saw nothing, so he did as suggested: he tried to climb down, hanging from the edge of the landing and lowering himself until he could see Selina standing on another platform under him. He threw his legs forward and let go. He hit the floor hard, twisting his ankle on the shifting tile, and rolled on the slope that had once been a perfectly horizontal landing.

Selina grabbed his arm.

“Got you!” she said. “I got you.”

And she did. She would not let go, even though he was three time her weight. They both careened into the river.

They were relatively close to the surface, but they crashed into the water more than they dropped into it, and it was not still. Entire walls and rooms were falling into it, causing waves and whirlpools. Selina sank like a stone. Jim dove and barely managed to grab her hand before the waves carried them away. They washed up on the riverside miles from the station.

Jim pulled Selina out of the river and wrapped his arms around her.

“I got you”, he murmured. “I got you.”

She coughed, heaved, and spat murky water all over his chest.

“I got you first”, she snapped back.

 

###

###

###


	53. Epilogue

Time went by so quickly.

You put one foot in front of the other, moving in the right direction. One foot in front of the other, you kept going.

But, every now and then, you stopped. You looked around. You stood at a crossroad and considered your options. Sometimes, you just stopped to breathe a little. To think. To look ahead, and to look back. You reminded yourself that the road was as important as the destination. There was no point racing towards your goals, trampling everything in your way. You could progress slowly and smooth the road on the way, put up a few signs. You could backtrack and explore.

The little things mattered the most, and there was always something to do, someone to help, an hand to hold.

And you did not have to walk alone either.

You could stop by a jewelry at some point, get a ring, put it around someone’s finger. Then you could travel together, towards something old and something new, and something borrowed, and something blue.

Sometimes - often - your steps led you to an empty grave in Gotham’s northern cemetery, where the only things buried were a hairpin left by a thief, an engagement ring, and three dozen yellow roses. You brought more roses, and a few warm words, and sometimes apologies. You idly wondered how a video tape of American Idol had ended next to the flowers you had brought the week before.

You grieved, and you forgave, and you let go.

 

###

 

“I have to say, nice accommodations you have here, Bianca. Can’t say much good about the doodles on the wall, but the place is fancy.”

“It’s Miss Steeplechase to you, Harv’”, Fish replied, leaning back on the elegant chair of her elegant office, and sipping her expensive Bordeaux.

“Hey. I just managed to get used to Bianca. Now, you are Bianca. End of the discussion. You don’t teach an old dog new things twice in a row.”

She chuckled.

“I saw you on the news”, Harvey said, sniffing his own glass, unimpressed. He eyed the scotch decanter on her desk. “Can’t say I’m a fan of the orange wig. I like the blue one the most. Orange makes you look like a giant bee swallowed your face, no offense.”

“None taken.”

After the gallery had opened, she had quickly shed the refined socialite cover, and assumed the role of the extravagant diva instead. She wore clothes and make up in every color of the rainbow, with the wigs and accessories to match, every time she appeared in public. Officially, it was a way to promote the gallery, by keeping every tabloid in town talking. Fish’s actual goal, however, was to kept Liza’s angel face a secret. She kept haunting Carmine. He grew thinner, and his face was gaunt by now. It had been seven months since she had started that game, after all.

“I hear you are getting married?” she asked.

“Me? What? Nah! That’s Jim. Where did you hear that?”

“Hearsay?”

He snorted.

“The lady and I are very fine not throwing ten grands at a ring and a fancy party.”

She smiled. A blushing Harvey was a sight to behold.

Of course, he changed topics immediately.

“So did you hear about that burglary at the Kanes? Clean job. The thief wasn’t seen at all. The family was all surprised their Cézanne was stolen. They say hardly anyone knew they owned it.”

Fish raised an eyebrow.

“Why, detective, I would not know a _thing_ about that! Shouldn’t you ask that horrible mobster who took over the Theater District? The one with the club? I hear he runs all the fences.”

“I’ll drop by. So, how is Selina?”

“Why, detective, I haven’t seen her in _ages_.”

Harvey gave her a doubtful, amused look.

“Seriously, how did she get to that painting? No one could figure it out.”

“Baseless accusations, now, Harv’? I expected better from you.”

“Well, what can I say? The little brat stole all of my cufflinks. Why wouldn’t I be suspicious?”

 

###

 

Jim knocked on the door of Nate’s tiny apartment in the Bowery, and heard little feet stampede towards him. The door opened.

“Jim!” Shawn exclaimed, hugging his leg.

Nate joined them, at a slower pace, smiling at his son’s antics. He had been letting his hair grow out since their release, as well as his beard, and now had the look of a blonde lumberjack. He had also gained some weight, rebelling at the idea of keeping himself in perfect shape. Sophie had done the same thing, in her own way. She had chopped her long brown hair and dyed it auburn.

“Hello, Jim. Nice to see you”, Nate said. “Come in, come in.”

The cop lifted Shawn up and walked into the apartment, stumbling over toys. It was small, with only three rooms as far as the detective could see.

“It’s a little messy, sorry. Want coffee? I just made some.”

“Just the one cup”, Jim replied. “I have to get back to the precinct. I just wanted to see how things were going.”

“Fairly well”, Nate said, getting two cups out. “I’m mostly busy with Shawn, what with all the therapy, but his doctors say he’s making a lot of progress.”

He served their coffees and put them down on the kitchen table. Jim sat down, with Shawn on his knees.

“Good to hear.”

“They think school might be an option as soon as next year”, Nate added.

“Wow. What do you think about that, Shawn?” Jim said, tousling the child’s hair.

“I wanna go. Maddy likes school.”

“Ah. And he is getting along with his sister.”

Jim had been so surprised, when they had reunited everyone with their families after being freed from Crowne’s house, that Nate had not only been married, but had an eleven years old girl. The mother had remarried five years after Nate’s disappearance, but was now making sure that daughter and father had ample time together.

Shawn looked at Jim, nearly bouncing into place.

“Maddy is super nice! And she has rollerblades, and a skateboard, and she teached me how to skate!”

“That’s great.”

“He likes Becky’s parents very much too”, Nate continued. “Which might or might not be related to the ungodly amounts of chocolate and toys they pour on him each week-end.”

Jim blew on his coffee and took a small sip.

“It’s all great news.”

“Did you hear about Miss Dayne?”

Sophie was no longer referred to by her first name around Shawn. His father had decided it was much better for him to forget all about her, especially since she was not fond of the boy.

“No? Something happened?”

“She got a book deal. You know, misery memoir, horrible true story…”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I’ll be allowed to edit. Told her if I found anything that could shock Shawn in the future, that book would never make it to print. But otherwise, yeah, I’m fine with it. I hope for her it sells, too.”

Jim mulled over that. Nate had vanished as soon as a judge had cleared him of all charges. The abductions had been dismissed, Nate having been coerced into helping Margaret. As for the woman’s violent death, it had been swept under the carpet. Her son had pushed for prosecution, but suddenly changed his mind, having “come to the conclusion that there was no conclusive evidence”. A conclusion he had shared with a very distinctly terrified voice. By that point, every single prisoner had been accounted for, with Nate in a holding cell, Sophie five states away to visit her remaining family, and David in Arkham. Jim could only suppose some outraged citizen had taken it upon themselves to get Mister Crowne to see the errors of his ways.

“How is it going at the GCPD?”

“Rebuilding, hiring, cleaning up”, Jim replied. “It’s going well.”

Nate nodded and drank his entire coffee before speaking again.

“Any news about Sirkis?” he asked, tense.

David’s name was also taboo. Nate had not forgiven his attack on Shawn, and never would, but he did keep himself informed.

“I don’t see him much since his brother had him moved from Arkham to Philadelphia, but Scottie visits him. She says he’s doing much better. It’s unlikely he’ll ever get out, but he’s not suicidal anymore.”

Nate nodded. Jim finished his coffee.

“It’s time I get back to work”, he said. “Call whenever you want. I’m always glad to hear about Shawn.”

 

###

 

“And Gertrude just vanished”, Giulia ranted, pacing across Falcone’s living room. “Without a trace. None of my men seem to know what happened, which means either they are very dense, or most of them are in on it.”

He leaned back into his armchair, studying her face.

He looked so much older. It was like ten years had passed in a a few months. There had been protests when he had moved back to his mansion. Giulia’s lieutenants, once again, had feared he would try to take back his place as the ruler of the city, but it had not happened. Carmine was not well, and not only had he not tried, he had lived like a hermit since then.

Giulia still visited. He was a good conversationalist, and she was worried about him.

She had asked about his health, and he had replied “there is nothing wrong with it. I’m healthy as a horse. Every exam I have undergone told me so”. His voice had been bitter, and she was still surprised that he had somehow admitted something _else_ was wrong.

“Send your men on a suicide mission and be rid of them if you can’t make them talk”, he said. “And be ready. Penguin knows you have a soft spot for the innocents. He would have left his mother to your care for years if he had thought you had no reason to harm her.”

“Which meant he found a way to make a come-back from his prison cell. One step ahead of you. I have a man inside who will get rid of him today.”

Carmine nodded.

“Good. Be ready for it to fail, too. The little roach is incredibly hard to kill.”

“Then I’ll keep trying until it works.”

“I seem to recall hearing that about Gilzean.”

Giulia clicked her tongue.

“Gilzean can be killed, or he can be quietly cut from his resources until his entire operation collapses. He’s at home in the Theater district, but you know how things go when the alcohol runs short and the money can’t move. He has not tried to expand and he’s smart enough to know he would be choked out if he tried. And, clearly, the man has an emotional attachment to the district, so he can have it, as long as he gets along with us. We Maroni tolerated _your_ family fine enough for years. No need to step on anyone’s toes.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I don’t go to war over pride and petty disputes over a patch of territory I don’t depend on. Especially not against a madman.”

Carmine smiled.

“As long as you are ready to strike back if something happens…”

 

###

 

Oswald stretched in his cell, enjoying the quiet of the mostly forgotten solitary confinement floor. Most prisoners hated the hole. Human rights groups said it drove people crazy.

Oswald had entirely too much to do to succumb to insanity.

He got his phone out of his pocket, and called his mother. She would not answer, of course: you hardly got cell reception on a cruise ship. He left a message.

“God day, mother. It is Oswald. I hope you tremendously enjoy your trip. I hear the weather will be wonderful in the Bahamas this week, so I’m sure you will have a wonderful time. I’ll try to call you back when I’m sure you are on land, so we can talk. I love you, take care.”

He hung up and took a moment to compose himself.

He missed her.

He couldn’t spend his day wallowing in misery, however, so he composed another number.

“Hello, Jacob. We need a new delivery. Fifty cigarette packs. Ten good quality, and ten cheap bars of every kind of chocolate save for the ones containing nuts. An assortment of Leonidas pralines, for me. All varieties. Instant coffee, five pots, you know which ones. Three packs of sugar. Also: Anton Walker wants school pictures of his estranged children. Find the photographer, make it happen. Oh. And don’t forget my eye drops. Yes, tomorrow will be fine. I’ll have someone pick up the delivery at the gates. Let’s say at nine? Very good.”

Oswald looked at the door, as he heard footsteps in the corridor.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to call you back”, he said. “My appointment has just arrived.”

He hung up, and put his phone into his pocket.

The door opened on another inmate, who was holding a gun to one of the guards’ head, and had forced him to hand over his keys.

Well, “forced”.

“Hello, mister Finnigan. I have been waiting for you”, Oswald greeted the newcomer, not bothering to stand up.

There was a hint of surprise on the thug’s face, but he hid it quickly. He lost no time. He aimed the gun straight at Oswald’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

There was a click.

Oswald fetched a bar of chocolate from under his cushion, and bit a square of it.

“Oh. Yes. We were aware of your plans”, he said to the stunned henchman. “So my friend here felt it was safer to keep his main weapon unloaded.”

Finnigan tried to take a step back.

“Not his spare, however”, Cobblepot announced right before the guard shot Giulia’s thug in the back of the head.

Oswald watched the body drop.

This one would end up in the sewers, a few others before him, and would be reported as having escaped.

“Thank you, Lowell”, Oswald told the guard. “I trust your son is enjoying college?”

“Very much, mister Cobblepot. Very much.”

 

###

 

Fish waited, standing in Falcone’s park, in a pristine ivory dress, her smooth blond hair curling around her neck, her silk shaw floating in the wind. She played with an English daisy - a red one - and counted the minutes until Carmine’s arrival. He took a stroll through the park every afternoon. He liked the air. It helped him think.

It took him a little more time than usual to reach a point where he could see her, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

She played with the flower some more, until he started moving towards her. Then she walked away. It hurt - exercise always did - but she was used to the pain, and Carmine was old, so she easily put some distance between them. She stopped, as if lost in thought, to let him catch up a little, then she fled again.

“Wait!” he called. “Please wait!”

She stopped, and turned to him, and whirled away. He hurried towards her, so she ran, luring him into the woods at the end of the park. She stopped fifty feet in.

They could not be seen anymore, and Butch was hidden nearby.

“You… You are… Are you real?” Carmine asked when he caught up with her. “Are you?”

His voice was breaking.

Fish felt a twinge of guilt. She hated the man, she did. She had hated him from her childhood, before she even knew his name. The name had not been relevant back then. He had been the bogeyman, the monster under the bed, and the boss of every working girl around. The real boss. The one to whom all the pimps reported to. The one whose men did as they pleased. He was the reason mothers walked the streets at nights, under red lights, and saw their daughters follow in their footsteps. He was, ultimately, regardless of who landed the killing blow, the reason mothers died.

She had spent her life clawing her way up from the gutter, so she could make him pay.

Then she had met him.

He was so good at making you forget.

He was just as much as a monster as she had imagined as a child, yet he was not the kind of monster she had imagined. He was charming. He was quiet. He was reasonable. He did not eat children for supper: he just ruined their lives. Most of all, he was sharp, and ruthless, and cunning, and powerful, and Fish could not help but respect those traits in him. She had worked hard to teach herself all of that. And, for all his faults, he had only ever showed her kindness after they had met, up to the point he had started to suspect her plan to betray him.

It never took you long to remember what kind of business he was running, and what his merchandise was, however.

As it turned out, it was harder to summon those memories now that he had retired, and now that he was falling to pieces a little more each time the ghost of Liza came to torment him.

“Are you?” he asked again, reaching for her hair.

She let him touch it. He only saw her profile, and her blue eye. He would be very surprised, very soon.

“Mmh”, she hummed, an octave higher than her true voice.

He took a step back.

“I’m losing my mind”, he murmured.

“You should not have come back to Gotham”, she said softly, turning to him. “Maybe I could have forgiven you.”

Carmine looked to her, and saw her eyes. He blanched.

She played with her red daisy, making it twirl between her fingers, kissing it, throwing it at his feet.

He took another step back, swaying. Butch, who had moved away from his hideout, caught him as he fell backwards, and pushed him back to his feet. Falcone looked at him, then back at Fish.

“It can’t be.”

She clicked her tongue.

“I’m sure you are very disappointed at your own stupidity”, she said.

He did not answer.

Fish held her hand out to Butch, who gave her a baseball bat, and smiled to her. She kicked her shoes away.

She hit Carmine’s gut first, then his knees, then his back. Then everything else.

Butch picked her shoes up, leaned against a tree, and waited.

 

###

 

Bruce and Selina sat at one of the tables of Jim and Leslie’s wedding reception. Not the table that had been assigned to them, of course. The one in the darkest corner, where no one could hear them talk, or argue.

“I will not be dancing”, she said.

“But everyone else is”, Bruce pointed out. “It would be strange if we did not. It’s looks of suspicious for us to be sitting in a corner and whispering for hours.”

She shot him a side-look. Then she frowned and stared at him, which made him feel very stupid for no reason he could pinpoint.

“It does not”, she said.

“Of course it does.”

“I swear it doesn’t.”

“It absolutely does. We should just join it, then we can talk.”

“I am not discussing vigilantism in the middle of a police party, nimwit.”

“But they won’t pay attention. I mean, everyone is looking at detective Gordon and doctor Thompkins.”

“Are we looking at the same people?”

“Alright, maybe detective Montoya is looking at captain Sawyer.”

“So maybe you are not totally blind.”

“And detective Bullock is looking, uh, at miss Mullens. I’m not sure it’s very polite to stare so blatantly in that direction.”

“I see Pennyworth is not very good at passing on that English gentlemanry. Of course it ain’t polite.”

“Anyway, no one is looking at us!”

She snorted.

“My point exactly. We don’t have to move from here.”

Bruce hesitated. He cleared his throat.

“Maybe we don’t have to, but I’d be honored if you would dance with me”, he admitted.

She groaned, rolled her eyes, and stood.

“Fine. Fine! FINE!”

 

###

###

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story is finally complete! Thank you so much for reading it all.  
> Thanks for your comments and your kudos and your likes and your reblogs, it was greatly appreciated :)
> 
> This was my first shot at writing this kind of story (what with me being a romance writer, be it in romantic comedies like Glitter Girl or drama like Poor Unfortunate Souls), and it was much harder than I expected.
> 
> I really liked the "having candidates for the Joker" pitch they had given about the show, and I wanted to give it a try, not with Jerome, but whoever could fit in the rest of the cast. So I tried! It was fun. I learned a lot. I have rarely ever written true villains before (the evil chaotic ones, I mean), so it was nice to play around and see what I could come up with.
> 
> I won't lie, though. I'm glad I'm done. XD


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